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Page S. 


Aunt Mary reaches the home of the Bhikes 






THE 


BLAKES and the BLOOMS; 


WHAT CAN BE DONE BY EARNEST HEARTS 
AND WILLING HANDS. 


BY, 


ERNEST GILMORE. 

H £-4 e "n 't^') 






A. 



PHILADELPHIA : 

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION, 

1334 CHESTNUT STREET. 



COPYRIGHT, 1884, BY 

THE TRUSTEES OF THE 

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION. 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 


Westcott & Thomson, 
Stereotypers and Electrotypers, Philada. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGB 

The Blake Family 7 

CHAPTER IL 

The New Cook 21 

CHAPTER HI. 

Rick 34 

CHAPTER IV. 

A Fresh Breeze 46 

CHAPTER V. 

Getting Near the Bugs 61 

CHAPTER VI. 

Miss Bloom 74 

CHAPTER VH. 

Widow PIepburn 84 

CHAPTER VHI. 

Little Tim 97 


3 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER IX. 

PAGB 

Dr. Gay’s Opinion 107 

CHAPTER X. 

A Good Suggestion 122 

CHAPTER XI. 

From Darkness to Light 135 

CHAPTER XII. 

Abe Linkun’s Pranks 149 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Mr. Blake’s Return 158 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Rick’s Confession 177 

CHAPTER XV. 

Ruth, and Nat 189 

CPIAPTER XVI. 

Miss Bloom’s Baby 202 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Daniel Cutler’s New Clerk 215 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

In the Country .... 226 


CHAPTER XIX. 


Daniel Cutler’s “Cup of Cold Water” 


243 


CONTENTS. 


5 


CHAPTER XX. 

PAGE 

Ann Moonrise’s Legacy 252 

CHAPTER XXL 

Mrs. Dow 258 

CHAPTER XXIL 

Jacob Dartmuth 271 

CHAPTER XXHI. 

Great Changes 283 




THE BLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE BLAKE TAMIL Y. 

HE day was the perfection of a July 



X day. A gentle rain had fallen all 
through the previous night, and no dust 
was in the road or in the air. The sun sent 
hot rays downward, but the foliage and the 
green grass only looked up smilingly, not 
to be vanquished by would-be scorching 
rays after their refreshing baths. Birds 
sang jubilant songs of thanksgiving. But- 
terflies waved their gauzy, beautiful wings 
over golden wheat-fields and daisy-sprinkled 
meadows. Wild flowers bloomed on the 
roadside and starred the fields with luxu- 
riant blossoms. Brooks went gliding melo- 
diously between green banks whose brims 
were decorated with white and purple anem- 


8 


THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 


ones. The buckwheat-fields were white as 
snow and the rye was gracefully bending 
its silvery heads. Here and there the 
wheat lay in golden sheaves, and the per- 
fume of new-mown hay filled the air. 

Just a little beyond all this beauty of 
woods and streams and fields there were 
suburban homes, a dozen or more on each 
side of a broad avenue sheltered by maples 
and oaks. It was pleasant to look upon 
most of these homes, with their well-kept 
lawns, their thrifty orchards and their rich 
gardens. A few of them were elegant, 
and, with one exception, all were beautiful 
externally. This one exception was the 
last house of the line properly called sub- 
urban, and the one nearest the city. “A 
run-down place,” people said ; and people 
were right this time, however frequently 
Madame Rumor is wrong. 

The house, a large, shapely frame one, 
evidently had not had the benefit of a paint- 
bath for many years, it having originally 
been white, and now as to color, or rather 
want of color, was represented in the most 
dingy of grays. Of course this change. 


THE BLAKE FAMILY. 


9 


having been a gradual one, had not shocked 
the neighbors severely, but a lady driving 
up in a phaeton for the first time, seeing it 
strongly contrasted with the other places, 
had she acted out her own feelings would 
have groaned aloud. As it was, she sighed 
heavily. 

The fences were leaning threateningly, 
reminding one of poor creatures whose 
strength is fast failing and whose days are 
numbered. The gates were decidedly rheu- 
matic, actually squeaking out as if in pain 
as they swung to and fro at every gust of 
wind. The stone walls were crumbling in 
places ; some cattle were aware of that fact, 
for they were feasting in a grain-field, evi- 
dently deeming it their right to help them- 
selves to whatever they desired, as the 
broken walls made access so easy to the 
feast. The barn looked neglected ; indeed, 
it was plain that no guiding hand was there 
to protect that home from ruin. 

A young man accompanied the lady in 
the phaeton, and to him she said, pointing 
to the “run-down” place, 

“There is the house, David; there’s no 


10 


THE BLAKE S AND THE BLOOMS. 


carriage-step, so drive up close to the curb- 
stone, please, and I will get out. Good-bye, 
David.” 

“ Don’t be in too big a hurry to say good- 
bye. Perhaps you will be afflicted with my 
company all the way back,” laughed David. 
“ I don’t see a sign of life about the house. 
The family may be away from home, at the 
seashore or the mountains, or somewhere.” 

“No, no; they must be here, some of 
them; my brother would have known had 
they thought of closing the house. But things 
look rather dubious. I’ll confess. It may be 
that they did not receive my letter. Just 
wait until I ring the bell.” 

The decided ring was answered quickly 
by a little boy of ten. His jacket was 
ragged at the elbows, his pants out at the 
knees, his face grimy, and his hands — oh, 
shades of Africa ! Notwithstanding such 
undesirableness of person and attire, the 
lady bent down and kissed the boy, as she 
said, “This must be Jamie?” 

“ Yessum, that’s my name,” answered the 
boy, looking half pleased, half ashamed, as 
he lifted a pair of eager, restless gray eyes 


THE BLAKE FAMILY. 


II 


toward the lady’s face ; “ but I don’t know 
you.” 

“ I don’t wonder at your not knowing me. 
It is six years since I saw you last ; you 
were a bit of a boy in short dresses then. 
I’m your aunt Mary.” 

“ Oh, I’m glad you’ve come!” Jamie spoke 
joyfully. “ Mamma has talked so much 
about you and wished so often for you to 
come !” 

It was into a large but uncomfortable- 
looking room that Jamie led his aunt. 
While waiting for Jamie to bring in her 
nieces the lady glanced over the room, as 
people with eyes always do upon entering 
a new or strange place. She felt strongly 
the dearth of woman’s influence as there 
exhibited. The carpet was dingy and rag- 
ged, and the want of curtains at the win- 
dows revealed them covered with dust and 
fly-specks — not entirely this summer’s dust 
and fly-specks, either; the lady felt sure of 
that. Scattered about the room were a 
few chairs, straight and stiff. 

“ It is a sort of martyrdom to sit on one,” 
was the visitor’s thought. On the broad 


12 


THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 


mantel were some huge vases, intended as 
ornamental, but failing woefully of fulfilling 
this intention ; they were thick with the 
same adornments as those embellishing 
the windows. There was a large table in the 
middle of the room covered with a spotted 
spread. In its centre stood a dirty lamp ; 
the visitor wondered grimly how much 
light it would give forth in its present 
clouded condition. Near the lamp lay a 
pile of unmended socks and stockings; 
evidently, this was the family sitting-room. 
Not a book or a flower was to be seen, but 
by way of further decoration to the untidy 
place a pair of ragged slippers lay in the 
middle of the floor, and near by a pair of 
girl’s buttoned boots, minus most of the 
buttons. 

A sound like that of a slight skirmish 
was now heard in the hall. A moment 
later the door opened and two girls entered. 
They were both attired shabbily in gowns 
yawning at the belt and guiltless of many 
buttons. They were twins, but very unlike, 
one of them being pretty, with a bright but 
rather bold face, with rosy cheeks and curl- 



Miss Bloom’s prison-visit 


Page 12 






THE BLAKE FAMILY. 


13 


ing dark hair, the other being plain as to 
feature, but with clear and bright blue 
eyes. 

The visitor arose, extended her hands 
and kissed the two faces shining most sus- 
piciously, fresh from a soap-and-water bath. 

“Aunt Mary Blake, Jamie tells us?” the 
blue-eyed girl said, looking earnestly into 
the eyes beaming kindly upon her. 

“Yes, dear, and you are Ethel; I know 
that without being told, although you were 
a delicate child of ten when I last saw you. 
And this,” turning to the other niece, “is 
Lucy. — I remember you, dear, as a roguish, 
busy child.” 

“ Fm busy yet, although my work don’t 
seem to amount to much,” answered Lucy, 
dolefully — much too dolefully for a girl of 
sixteen. “ But I guess the roguishness, if 
there ever was any — must have been swal- 
lowed up in the long ago.” 

Miss Blake smiled. 

“ Not so long ago, either,” she said. 
“You can’t be more than sixteen now.” 

“ No, ma’am — not in years, but I feel 
’most a hundred in experience.” 


14 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

There was such a look of discourage- 
ment in the young face that her aunt re- 
plied gently, 

“The years must have pressed heavily 
upon your head, you poor child, to have 
caused you to feel thus. I am sorry. How 
is your mother? Did she receive my 
letter?” 

“ Mother is just about as she has been 
for the last three years, and that is quite 
poorly. She didn’t receive any letter. Did 
you write that you were coming?” 

“Yes. I met your father at Shelby, and 
he asked me to come and make a visit 
while he was absent. I am very anxious to 
see your mother. Can I go to her room?” 

The twins looked at each other question- 
ingly. 

“Yes, ma’am, you can, of course, but — ” 

Ethel was the one who began to answer, 
but Lucy felt obliged to finish the sentence : 

“The truth is, that mamma’s room is 
hardly the place to take visitors.” 

Lucy’s face flushed as she spoke. She 
too stammered, then stopped talking, look- 
ing up a moment later with an expression 


THE BLAKE FAMILY. 


15 


half defiant, half deprecating, as amusing 
as it was pitiful, to say as bravely as pos- 
sible, 

“ But you must go there, of course, to 
see her, for she never leaves her room. 
Poor mother! Come, Aunt Mary; I will 
lead you to mamma’s room. She will be 
expecting you, for Jamie has gone to tell 
her that you are here.” 

Lucy led the way through a disorderly 
hall, up a staircase still more disorderly, for 
poked through the banisters up every two 
or three stairs were various things, thrown 
there hastily to be carried up “ some other 
time.” Then, after passing through an 
upper hall, in whose dark corners spiders 
reveled unmolested, she opened a door 
leading into the invalid’s room. 

Before Miss Blake’s eyes had become ac- 
customed to the gloom, so as to enable her 
to see the objects within, a voice called, 

“ Oh, Mary dear, I’m glad indeed to see 
you !” 

“ And I am glad to be here,” Miss Blake 
replied, smiling, as she made her way across 
the room and took the invalid’s hand in her 


1 6 THE BLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

own. Her smile vanished at the touch of 
that thin hand ; it seemed fading away. 
She kissed the blue lips fondly, and then, 
as Lucy threw open the blinds of one of 
the windows, letting in rays of light that 
revealed the worn face, she said kindly, “ I 
think you need me, Bertha. Do you not ?” 

Miss Blake was not prepared for the 
burst of tears with which her question was 
received. Not a word was spoken for a 
few moments, while the sick woman buried 
her face in her hands, sobbing violently. 
Then, when Miss Blake’s kind hand stroked 
the bowed head gently, she looked up to 
say earnestly, but with a pitiful quiver of 
the lips, “Thank you, Mary dear. Yes, I 
certainly both look and feel as if I needed 
some dear friend, such as you always were 
in the bygone days.” 

“ And such as I hope I shall prove to be 
now while I am with you.” 

Miss Blake felt inclined to sigh as she 
spoke, for her first impressions of the home 
where she had promised her brother to re- 
main a month were decidedly depressing. 
This room, in which her sister-in-law was 


THE BLAKE FAMILY. 1 / 

confined, presented a more lamentable ap- 
pearance than the family sitting-room. Like 
it, it was dusty and neglected, and had a 
greasy carpet on the floor. Unlike it, the 
two windows were draped, but whether the 
drapery was an improvement or otherwise 
I will leave you to judge. The soiled lace 
curtains hung limp and forlorn, as if weep- 
ing in sorrow at their disreputable looks. 
The invalid was resting on a couch, near 
which stood a small table without a spread ; 
which was better, all things considered, than 
if it had possessed one. It was strewn with 
a medley of things which would certainly 
have failed to improve the most simple of 
table-spreads. Of course the inevitable 
night-lamp — a necessity with the wakeful 
invalid — graced the centre of the table. Its 
chimney looked as if the smoke of ages 
had there found peaceful lodgment. Near 
the lamp an open book reposed in danger- 
ous proximity to several sticky medicine- 
bottles. Two plates were side by side — 
one holding a piece of toast upon which a 
colony of flies were having a revel, the 
other containing the skin and core of an 


1 8 THE BLAKE S AND THE BLOOMS. 

apple and two peach- stones, and — another 
colony of flies. Then there was a cup half 
full of cold tea and an ashy-looking tum- 
bler holding a dried-up bit of lemon-peel, 
and — more flies. Strange, how flies will 
monopolize a sick room, especially one not 
properly cared for! 

The invalid’s looks and attire were in 
keeping with the room. She was dressed 
in a thin old wrapper. Around her neck a 
tattered silk handkerchief was tied, hang- 
ing down low in front, fortunately thus hid- 
ing some of the numerous pins which fas- 
tened together the waist of the buttonless 
wrapper. 

Not very desirable surroundings in which 
to spend a month were these, but Miss 
Blake belonged to a band that held no 
shirking member. It was enough for her 
to know that her hand was needed ; it was 
then outstretched. 

Lest you might think that she had re- 
ceived kindness from her brother’s family 
in bygone days which she felt bound to re- 
pay, I will say that such was not the case. 
She was not under the slightest obligation 


THE BLAKE FAMILY. 


19 


to her brother’s family for past favors ; dur- 
ing the past, as in the present, the favors 
proved one-sided affairs, all emanating from 
Miss Blake. But in her unselfishness she 
scarcely thought of her own discomfort ; 
her loving heart was flooded with a tender 
pity as she realized the absence of any- 
thing like comfort in this home into which 
she had come. 

What a weary, monotonous life the inva- 
lid passed ! What a dreary, down-pulling 
existence must that be of the two girls ! 
Where was the fault? Was it all her 
brother’s, her poor, dear brother’s, who 
loved the wine-cup? Was it the fault of 
her frail, sick sister-in-law, who had always 
been a clinging vine, not able to hold her- 
self up, and, alas ! not having yet found 
foothold on the Rock that would have al- 
ways upheld her? Were the careless, 
ignorant young girls to blame? All these 
questions entered Miss Blake’s mind, but 
she pushed them aside resolutely. 

“ I will judge none of them,” she said 
mentally, and then, with a swift prayer for 
wisdom and strength, she armed herself to 


20 


THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 


battle with this shadow which was darken- 
ing her brother’s home. 

“ O Father in heaven, send down thy 
Spirit to awaken them ! Let them arise 
from this deadness to blossom forth into 
the lovely fruit of earnest living !” 

This was her prayer. 


CHAPTER IL 


THE NEW COOK. 

I T was about an hour and a half after 
Miss Blake’s introduction to the sick 
room when Ethel came in, bringing her 
mother’s lunch. 

“I will arrange things for you, mamma, 
and then take Aunt Mary down to dinner,” 
she said, drawing the table a little nearer 
the couch, pushing back the plates of cold 
toast and flies and peach-stones and flies, 
and the sticky medicine-bottles and flies, so 
as to make room for the tray, which she set 
down heavily, causing the book to fall to 
the floor. 

Miss Blake, stooping to pick it up, came 
in full view of the lunch. It consisted of a 
cup of cold-looking tea, a slice of burnt 
toast, thick and heavy, and a fried something. 
Miss Blake, without minute examination, 
would not have risked her reputation as a 

21 


22 


7'HE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 


truth-telling person by deciding hastily what 
it was, since it resembled a piece of cooked 
chamois-skin as much as it did the egg 
which it was. Ethel opened a soiled nap- 
kin and threw it carelessly before her 
mother; then, turning to Miss Blake, she 
said, 

“ Come, Aunt Mary ; mamma has all she 
needs at present. We will go to dinner. 
— Ring the bell, if you want anything, 
mamma.” 

Miss Blake had felt a little hungry before 
the arrival of the sick-room lunch, but it 
had considerably shaken her appetite, and 
when she reached the dining-room and 
seated herself at the table the last vestige 
of appetite disappeared. The limp table- 
cloth was originally a red one, but it was 
plentifully spotted with brown, caused by 
Jamie overturning his coffee several times, 
gray streaks from the careless handling of 
the gravy-boat, and one great crusted, yel- 
low spot ; an egg had evidently been over- 
turned by some one. The dinner itself was 
a slim affair, consisting of one course. 
There was fried meat — Miss Blake could 


THE NEW COOK. 


23 


not tell whether it was beef, lamb or pork ; 
a dish of boiled potatoes, served in their 
skins ; cold lettuce ; heavy bread, and but- 
ter, the latter good ; and lukewarm coffee. 

The girls seemed slightly embarrassed. 
Lucy, with an exceedingly flushed face, 
looked up to say, 

I’m ashamed of this table-cloth ; it’s too 
dirty to be seen, but Jamie usually manages 
to upset something, as this cloth shows, and 
we didn’t have a single clean one to put on.” 

Then Ethel, with equally flushed face, 
added, 

'‘And Fm ashamed that we have not a 
better dinner. If we’d received your let- 
ter we would have had a pie or something.” 

Miss Blake, although thoroughly disgust- 
ed with everything she saw, pitied the girls, 
so she said very kindly, 

“ No apologies are necessary ; you both 
have your hands full, without a doubt, and 
I don’t wish you to make company of me.” 

Yet it was with difficulty that she man- 
aged to swallow anything. She did, how- 
ever, partake of a trifle of the indigestible 
food with which her plate was generously 


24 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS, 

provided, washing it down with some of the 
muddy coffee, thinking meanwhile, with 
grim humor, that the coffee might be just 
the thing to present to a physician as a rare 
emetic; it was with great self-control that 
she succeeded in preventing its having that 
effect upon herself 

After the dinner-hour had passed Miss 
Blake retired to her room for a quarter of 
an hour ; after that, putting on a large white 
apron, she again sought the invalid. She 
was surprised to see the tray of food, un- 
tasted, upon the table. 

“ I don’t believe you’ve eaten a particle,” 
she said, bending tenderly down to touch 
her lips to the sick woman’s forehead. 

“ I tried to eat, but it seems that I cannot 
swallow a mouthful ; things are either taste- 
less or sickening.” She spoke wearily. 

“ I am sorry, but we’ll endeavor to have 
them taste better. Shall I take these things 
down to the kitchen ?” 

“ Certainly you can if you do not mind 
the trouble, but the kitchen, I fear, is a dread- 
ful-looking place for your eyes.” 

“Never mind how it looks. One can’t 


THE NEW COOK. 


25 


expect two young girls to keep everything 
spotless, especially where there is sickness, 
and necessarily much additional work.” 

Gathering up not only the tray, but the 
other soiled plates, the stray tumblers and 
cups. Miss Blake found her way to the 
kitchen, where she was greeted by looks of 
consternation from the two girls washing 
dishes at the sink. In response to the look 
she said, laughingly, 

“ Don’t be alarmed ; I am not here to 
cause you fright, but to see what I can do 
to assist you. I brought down these things 
from your mother’s room. You see, she 
has not touched the food. Does she live 
on nothing?” 

“ Mostly, I do believe ; she don’t seem to 
like anything we get for her,” answered 
Ethel. 

“ Is there a fire ?” 

“Not a particle,” Ethel said, lifting the 
stove-cover and looking in. “ There never 
is when we’re through dinner ; that’s the 
reason that we have to wash the dishes in 
lukewarm water. Ugh! the greasy things!” 
She wiped her hot face with her hands, just 


26 THE SLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

fresh from contact with the smutty stove- 
lifter — consequence, a black beauty-spot. 

“ I have had considerable experience in 
cooking for invalids,” Miss Blake said, 
cheerily. “ If you will allow me to build a 
fire I think perhaps I may succeed in pre- 
paring some little delicacy that your mother 
may relish.” 

“ Oh, Aunt Mary, it’s enough for you to 
see the inside of such a dirty hole as this, 
without having to build a fire,” Lucy said, 
throwing down her wiping towel, all black 
and musty, behind the pump of the sink 
and coming toward the stove. “ I’ll build 
it if you want one, if I can find any kin- 
dling-wood.” 

“Don’t you usually have your kindling 
prepared by the quantity?” Miss Blake 
asked, following Lucy to the wood-house, 
a latticed affair leading out of the kitchen. 

“ No, ma’am ; it can’t be done. Rick 
never seems to care whether we have any 
kindlings or not, although he’s always ready 
to eat after the kindlings start the fire that 
cooks the dinner that feeds the Blake family.” 

Miss Blake laughed. “ That is a long 


THE NEW COOK. 2 / 

sentence,” she said. “ It reminds me of 
‘This is the house that Jack built.’ Let me 
see: ‘This is the cow with the crumpled 
horn, that tossed the dog, that worried the 
cat, that killed the rat — ’ Where is that 
troublesome brother who does not furnish 
kindlings ?” 

“ He’s in school in the city ; he takes his 
dinner with him. Of course it’s too far to 
come home, but you’ll see him as soon as 
you want to — sooner, I think.” 

“ Not sooner. I’m sure ; I love boys.” 

“ I never saw a boy / loved,” Lucy said 
decidedly; “and I’m sure you won’t love 
Rick ; he isn’t lovable.” 

Miss Blake did not reply, but looked sad. 

Just then Jamie entered the wood-house. 

“Come, dear,” his aunt called. “We’re in 
want of some kindling to make a quick 
fire, so as to cook mamma something nice. 
You can cut some for us. I’m sure.” 

Lucy looked at her little brother as if she 
was anything but sure about his coming to 
their relief, but his aunt’s smile won him. 

“Yes, ma’am, I can get you some kin- 
dling in a twinkling ; that is, if I can find 


28 


THE EL A HE S AND THE BLOOMS. 


Rick’s hatchet ; he always throws his things 
everywhere.” 

“And his brother patterns after him,” 
Lucy added in a vexing tone. 

Ten minutes passed while looking for the 
stray hatchet that was to cut the wood. 
Afterward Jamie’s resolute blows soon pro- 
duced the desired effect. He carried the 
light wood to the kitchen and put it into 
the stove. Miss Blake, striking a match, 
said to the girls, “ I want you to allow me 
to be assistant cook while I am here;” then, 
turning to Jamie, “ Now, my boy, three or 
four sticks of wood — hard wood, as you 
have no charcoal — and we will have a fire 
for broiling, if you have anything to broil.” 

“ There’s a chicken in the ice-box,” said 
Ethel ; “ it ought to have been cooked for 
dinner, but we forgot it ; we’re for ever for- 
getting something.” 

“Ah, a chicken! that will be just the 
thing. Please get it, and some light bread, 
if you have it ; no matter if it is old. I will 
fix up something that will taste good to your 
mother. But I must go to her room first. 
I will be back in a few moments.” 


THE NEW COOK. 


29 


Back to the sick room her quick feet car- 
ried her. She bathed the invalid’s face and 
hands, brushed back the thin gray hair from 
the forehead, cleared off the little table and 
spread over it a large clean towel. All 
this was done so speedily, and yet so gently, 
that before the surprised and grateful recip- 
ient of these favors could frame her lips to 
express her thanks the donor was on her 
way back to the kitchen. 

“ Ah, that’s a fire worth having !” she said, 
smiling, as she entered the kitchen and 
looked into the stove. “There will soon 
be a bed of coals.” 

“ Here’s the chicken and the bread,” an- 
nounced Lucy, “but the latter is a baker’s 
loaf, five days old.” 

“ If it is not musty its age is in its favor 
for present purposes,” Miss Blake said, 
smelling it. “ An egg, if you please, dear. 
And which pump brings the hard water? 
We must make some fresh tea for your 
mamma.” 

Both girls watched their aunt as she put 
a little water to boil and then cut a slice of 
the bread. As soon as the steam issued 


30 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 


from the spout of the tea-kettle she poured 
a little of the boiling water into a basin, 
dipped the bread in, took it out carefully, 
redipped it in the egg beaten up lightly 
and salted to taste. Next she put a bit of 
butter into a low granite basin and set it 
on the stove. Of course it was hot in a 
moment, and then in it went the dipped 
bread. 

“ It is a golden brown in a flash,” watch- 
ing Jamie said admiringly ; and then his 
aunt turned it over, pushed it on the back 
part of the stove and asked for the toaster. 
A racked old toaster was forthcoming, but 
the new cook, determined to overcome all 
obstacles, washed it clean, straightened as 
best she could its bent wires, and put with- 
in it the breast and wing of the chicken, 
which Ethel had washed and thoroughly 
wiped under her aunt’s directions. 

“ Oh, how good that smells !” Jamie said, 
sniffing as soon as the chicken began to 
broil. “ Why, can’t we have broiled chickens 
some day for dinner?” 

'‘You can, dear, if you will furnish the 
chickens ; I will broil them for you.” 


THE NEW COOK. 


31 


“Whew! Won’t that be a jolly dinner! 
Wonder what Rick will say to that?” 

“ I believe boys don’t think of anything 
else except eating,” Lucy asserted crossly. 

“ Eating ought to have a good place in 
their thoughts; growing boys certainly need 
plenty of nourishment,” Miss Blake an- 
swered, turning the broiler. “ Now for the 
tea ; I believe your mother likes Oolong 
tea ?” 

“ She don’t seem to care anything for her 
tea any more,” Ethel observed as she 
brought the tea-canister and the teapot to 
her aunt. 

Miss Blake’s nose again did duty. Smell- 
ing the teapot, she said, “ Rinse it out 
thoroughly, please, with some of the boil- 
ing water, then with cold, and wipe it dry.” 

Ethel, looking very much surprised, did 
as she was requested ; then Miss Blake put 
into the cleansed teapot a teaspoonful of tea, 
poured boiling water upon it, and put it on 
the back part of the stove, where it could 
steep and not boil. By this time the 
chicken was delicately broiled. 

“Now, my dear,” she said, turning her 


32 THE BLARES AND THE BLOOMS. 

flushed face away from the hot stove, “if 
you have some clean napkins and some 
pretty dishes, I think mamma will relish her 
lunch.” 

The napkins were furnished — whole ones 
this time — and Lucy called from the pantry, 
where she stood on a high chair, “ Up on 
this shelf are two little pink china plates 
and a cup to match, but they’re thick with 
dust and spiders. I guess we’ll have to use 
the old cracked dishes to-day.” 

“No, no, dear; I prefer not to use the 
old ones. Bring those along, please ; things 
taste better when served daintily. Soap 
and water will battle with dust and spiders, 
and come forth victors in less than five 
minutes.” 

When Miss Blake entered the sick room 
Lucy and Ethel followed as far as the door 
to see what mamma would say. As for 
Jamie, he slipped along close to his aunt, 
his grimy face smiling with delight as he 
wondered how his mother would enjoy her 
“jolly lunch.” 

“Oh, Mary!” the invalid exclaimed, “how 
good of you I I can’t remember anything 


THE NEW COOK. 


33 


looking so nice as this ; and how good it 
smells !” 

“ Looks nice ! smells good ! That' s just 
as it should be,” Miss Blake replied, with a 
laugh. “Now tell me how it tastes.” 

The invalid tasted the tempting food — no 
danger of calling it “ tasteless” or “ sicken- 
ing” — then, looking up with grateful ac- 
knowledgment, she said, “ My dear Mary, 
I have not tasted anything so good in years.” 

“ Then eat it all, and while you are doing 
so Jamie and I will watch the bit of color 
that will surely creep into your cheeks.” 

Miss Blake put her arm about Jamie as 
she spoke ; then, sitting down, she drew him 
toward her. He seemed pleased, but his 
face flushed warmly. Poor child ! he was 
so unused to caresses ! 


3 


CHAPTER III. 


RICK. 


IK returned home about four o’clock. 



Who’s here?” was his salutation as 


he entered the house and threw his school- 
books under the table. “ I saw the express- 
man leave a trunk at the front door.” 

“Your aunt Mary is here,” Lucy an- 
swered. 

“ Who is she f 

“ She’s mamma’s sister.” 

“ I thought mamma had no sister.” 

“ Papa’s sister, I mean ; I’m so flustered 
I hardly know what I’m saying. She’s 
papa’s only sister, and a great deal younger 
than he is. She took care of him when he 
was sick with fever six years ago. Don’t 
you remember her?” 

“ ’Seems to me I do, and ’seems to me I 
don’t ; can’t tell positively which it is. Did 
she inquire about me ?” 


34 


RICK. 


35 


“Of course. She’s anxious to see you; 
she’ll see a sight, won’t she ? She says she 
loves boys. I suppose she’ll fall in love 
with you at first sight, you are so winning 
and lovable.” 

“ Humph ! About as much danger of 
her falling in love with me as with you, 
Mademoiselle Sweetness.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know about that ; my hands 
are not quite so black as yours. I usually 
wash them at least once a day, and I don’t 
wear clothes that look as if I had rolled in 
the streets.” 

“As for the clothes,” replied Rick, an- 
grily, “ I wouldn’t wear ’em either if I could 
get any better ones. But, on the whole, I 
think, maybe. Aunt Mary would as soon 
fall in love with my black hands and dusty 
clothes as she would with your frowsy head, 
that looks as if you had slept in a haystack, 
and your bee-u-tee-ful ga-own. Are but- 
tons expensive, ma’am ? And has the 
thread all given out, me leddy, that you 
can’t sew the buttons on and catch up the 
rents a thrifle?” 

After this burst of eloquence Rick went 


36 THE BLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

into the pantry and helped himself to a 
piece of heavy, dry bread and the leathery 
fried meat. 

“What else did you have for dinner?” he 
demanded of Jamie, who was sitting in the 
pantry-window dangling a cork tied to a 
string for the entertainment of a stray kit- 
ten outside. 

“Well, let me see,” answered Jamie medi- 
tatingly. “ Nothing, I guess, except some 
lettuce. Want some? It was garnished.” 

“Yes, I want some if it was good. Was 
it garnished with hard-boiled eggs in honor 
of Aunt Mary?” 

“ I didn’t see any eggs,” Jamie said 
roguishly, “but I’ll tell you what I did see. 
I was cutting my lettuce all up nicely, and 
was just about to swallow some of it, when 
a big white miller, as big as a teaspoon, 
crept out of my plate. Ugh! the venture- 
some thing I Want some garnished lettuce, 
Rick ?” 

“No, thank ye, sir,” answered Rick, bow- 
ing with mock gravity. “ But I say, Jamie, 
where is Aunt Mary? How does she look? 
Do you like her?” 


RICK. 


37 


“ My ! how you do fling the questions at 
one! Well, I’ll answer them in order if I 
can remember. First: I guess Aunt Mary 
is lying down ; she’s tired, I s’pose. You 
ought to have seen the jolly dinner, she 
cooked for mamma. My ! but ’twas nice I 
— broiled chicken, egg-toast. And after 
that she combed mamma’s hair ; and I say, 
Rick, you wouldn’t hardly know it was 
mamma, she looks so nice, with the cutest 
little cap on, brightened with crimson rib- 
bons. Aunt Mary brought the cap and the 
wrapper too. I say, Rick, mamma has got 
a new gown on. Ain’t you glad?” 

“ ’Should think it was a matter of rejoi- 
cing. I wonder if mamma’s old gown de- 
scended from the ark ? Do you s’pose it 
did ?” 

“Can’t say,” laughed Jamie, “but don’t 
ask any more questions until I answer those 
others. Second: ‘How does she look?’ 
Well, she looks pretty and good and sweet. 
Third: ‘Do I like her?’ Yes, of course; 
one can’t help liking her, she’s so — so dif- 
ferent from our folks. You’ll see for your- 
self, Rick.” 


38 THE BLARES AND THE BLOOMS. 

“ Humph ! Complimentary to ‘ our folks,’ 
I must say. Jamie, do you include your- 
self and your estimable brother Richard in 
your term ‘our folks’?” 

“I wasn’t thinking of you, Rick, or of 
myself,” Jamie answered, a sad look creep- 
ing ov^er his boyish face ; “ we’re only boys. 
I meant by ‘our folks’ mamma and Lucy 
and Ethel.” 

“Well,” Rick said, “she must be vastly 
different from our folks if she loves boys, 
as Lucy says. Did she act as if she loved 
you ?” Rick spoke mischievously, but he 
listened for the answer. 

“Yes.” And over Jamie’s face there 
came such a ^\o\v as Rick had never seen 
before. “ She kissed me, and, Rick — don’t 
laugh — she put her arms ’round me and 
looked — Oh, Rick !” 

Looked r 
looked!' 

“ Well, if her eyes were open she couldn’t 
help but look ; every one who is not blind 
looks, Jamie,” Rick said, teasingly. 

Jamie looked grieved. “Of course I 
don’t mean mere sight-seeing; you know 


RICK. 


39 


that, Rick Blake — any chicken or cat can 
look in that way — but she looked tender 
some way, just as if she thought — ” And 
Jamie choked. 

“ Thought what?” asked Rick impatiently. 

“That boys were of some account in the 
world.” 

“ And do you think you are ?” 

“ Why, yes ; that is, I might be if — if — 
other folks thought so and would help me 
along.” 

“ Whew !” 

With that exclamation Rick, without wait- 
ing to receive an answer to question third, 
went out of the pantry into the kitchen. 
He washed his hands at the sink, and wiped 
them, before they were half clean, upon a 
fresh towel which Lucy had just put upon 
the roller. 

“You’re the dirtiest fellow I ever saw, 
Richard Blake,” she said angrily. “ A boy 
of your age is about big enough to wash 
his hands clean before he wipes them. I 
wish you’d try to be halfway decent.” 

“ Perhaps I might be persuaded to try to 
be if you were halfway civil,” Rick an- 


40 THE BLARES AND THE BLOOMS. 

swered, leaving die kitchen angrily and go- 
ing to his room. 

“ My ! what a looking place !’' he said, 
glancing about the bedroom, which Jamie 
shared with him. The bed was unmade, 
the slops still unemptied and the windows 
closed tightly. Of course the atmosphere 
of the room was far from agreeable. 
“ Whew !” Rick exclaimed, throwing open 
the windows and poking his head outside 
for a breath of wholesome air. “Those 
girls would command big wages as cham- 
bermaids, they do their work so thoroughly 
and systematically. Kind of inspires one 
to grand and lofty doing to enter this room; 
its essence seems to be that of ‘ sweetness 
long drawn out.’ There are the very shav- 
ings I made three weeks ago whittling my 
boat. S’pose I’d no business making such 
a mess ; but then I can’t help wondering if 
a broom will ever come visiting again ; it 
ought to receive a welcome when it does, 
for its visits are few and far between. Let 
me see, to change the subject: I must 
brush up a little before Aunt Mary sees me. 
’Seems to me I remember about her kiss- 


RICK. 


41 


ing me and putting her arms around 7ne. I 
can’t remember just how it looked, though, 
it seems so long ago ; and something was 
troubling me, but I can’t remember what.” 

Rick’s “ thinking cap” being on, he for- 
got all about brushing himself up. He 
threw himself, boots and all, upon the 
unmade bed, where he lay until aroused 
by Lucy’s voice : 

“Come, get up this minute, and let me 
make this bed. You’d better go down and 
see Aunt Mary; , she’s been asking for you. 
She’ll be charmed when she sees you.” 

Rick sprang from the bed with a bound 
and gazed earnestly into his fly-specked 
dressing-glass. Not a very prepossessing 
face met his view. It was freckled, dirty, 
and the perspiration stood thickly on his 
forehead, crowned with heavy wavy hair. 

“The eyes ain’t so bad — any way, they 
have the merit of being big ; neither is the 
mouth out of the way, as mouths go, al- 
though I won’t deny but it has the same 
merit as the eyes,” he said mentally, open- 
ing his eyes to their utmost limit and mak- 
ing a horrid grimace with his mouth. Then 


42 THE SLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

turning to Lucy, he said, “When you get 
the bed made and this pigsty of a room var- 
nished over. I’ll fix up slightly and present 
myself to Aunt Mary for inspection.” 

For a wonder, Lucy deigned no answer. 
She smoothed down the bed, emptied the 
slops and filled the water-pitcher, without 
washing anything, and then started to leave 
the room. 

“Going?” Rick said as she started to- 
ward the door. 

“ Going !” as she stepped upon the thres- 
hold ; “Gone !” as she reached the hall, and 
he shut the door with a bang. 

After that he gave his old, stained suit a 
thorough brushing, washed his hands and 
scrubbed them with an old toothbrush, 
washed his face, and scrubbed that too with 
a coarse towel. Then, after devoting some 
time to the task of combing and smooth- 
ing his refractory hair, he looked quite like 
a respectable boy. He hunted in every 
drawer of his bureau to see if he could find 
a decent necktie, but not a tie was there to 
be seen that had the least claim to decency, 
although there were a dozen or more rag- 


RICK. 


43 


ged, dirty ones that he tossed about in his 
search. 

“I’ll have an auction some day and sell 
off this trash,” he said, pushing the bureau- 
drawers shut with a crash. “ Here’s your 
peach-stones, and old lead-pencils, and nails, 
and fish-hooks, and cords, and knives with- 
out blades, and frayed collars, and button- 
less shirts, and ragged socks ! My ! but 
ain’t I rich, though, with this bureauful of 
possessions ? If I hadn’t been looking for 
a necktie I shouldn’t have realized my great 
wealth.” 

After this flow of profound thought Rick 
went to the wood-house to black his boots, 
and a very few minutes afterward entered 
the sitting-room. Ethel, who was sitting 
there with Miss Blake, said, “ This is Rick, 
Aunt Mary,” but before the words had 
passed her lips Rick’s hand was clasped 
between his aunt’s soft ones, and she was 
saying, “ Richard, dear boy, I am glad to see 
you. I can claim a kiss, I suppose?” 

Rick raised his face to receive the kiss, 
but was altogether too bewildered to give 
one in return ; however, he appreciated it 


44 the b lakes and the blooms, 

all the same, and that night in his sleep he 
dreamed of a lovely blue-eyed lady who 
called him “ Richard, dear boy,” and kissed 
him tenderly. You can infer from this that 
Rick had not been accustomed either to 
kisses or to tender words. 

Poor Rick ! there has not been much 
brightness in his life. He has received very 
little home attention, and yet he is always 
in demand. His position in his home was 
not an enviable one. Considered of no 
importance, yet he was the “ errand-boy” 
— with Jamie as assistant — of the establish- 
ment. Perhaps some people do not under- 
stand what it is to be the errand-boy of the 
house. Rick certainly knows the trials of 
his position, and wishes sometimes that he 
might be transformed into a centipede, be- 
cause then, if he could not economize his 
legs, he would have a good many to use. 

Rick had another strange dream that 
night. It was this : His nervous mother, 
who never seemed to want him near her, 
smoothed his forehead and called him her 
“dear boy.” His sister Lucy mended, his 
shirts and marked him some new handker- 


RICK. 


45 


chiefs. As for Ethel, she swept his room 
and arranged it. Oh, how sweet and clean 
it was ! and there was a vase of roses on 
the window-sill. 

Was Rick’s dream prophetic? 


CHAPTER IV. 


A FRESH BREEZE. 

I T was the morning after Miss Blake’s 
arrival. Before retiring the previous 
evening she had had a long talk with her 
nieces. The conversation had been so gen- 
tle and unobtrusive, and yet so earnest, that 
it had created some ripples in the shallow 
streams of their natures. At six o’clock, 
according to agreement. Miss Blake, with 
a large gingham apron on reaching to the 
bottom of her skirt, met her nieces, who 
looked decidedly sleepy, in the kitchen. 

“What shall we do first?” asked Lucy, 
yawning. 

To which her aunt replied, “The best 
thing we can do now is to build a fire 
and prepare a good breakfast. That we 
would certainly enjoy, and after we have 
eaten it we will have strength to perform 
the work we have planned to do.” 

46 


A FRESH BREEZE. 


47 


Lucy’s face grew long. “ I don’t see how 
we can prepare a good breakfast without 
any materials. I wish we could, for your 
sake, Aunt Mary ; I believe you must be 
nearly starved by this time,” she said. 

“ Don’t worry about me,” Miss Blake 
said cheerfully. “ But tell me what you 
intended to have for breakfast.” 

“Some of the best of the scraps, I sup- 
pose, but they don’t get eaten when we 
take the trouble to warm them over. They 
usually get tossed about on the boys’ plates, 
and afterward thrown out.” 

“ Show me the scraps you refer to; some 
scraps are worth a good deal. One of the 
most elegant quilts that I ever saw was 
composed entirely of scraps taken from a 
milliner’s bag, and more than once I have 
prepared a breakfast of scraps.” 

The refrigerator was opened for Miss 
Blake’s inspection. 

“ It’s smell is not particularly refreshing,” 
she said honestly, “ but the contents may 
be all right, as I see you have plenty of 
ice.” 

“ Yes, ice is the one thing that we have in 


48 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

plenty, and it is something- that Rick attends 
to systematically,” said Ethel. 

“That’s good of him,’’ replied his aunt. 

“ I don’t know about the goodness of the 
act ; there’s no merit in it. I think the only 
reason that he attends to is because he would 
suffer if he neglected it. He left the ice 
out to melt at two different times, and father 
promised him a thrashing if he ever did it 
again.” It was Lucy speaking. 

Miss Blake sighed, but whether it was 
because of a father’s severity or a sister’s 
delight in giving such information, or simply 
on account of the medley forthcoming from 
the refrigerator, we know not. 

“ Here’s a small piece of roast beef. 
When was it cooked?” she asked. 

“ Day before yesterday, so it is good ; and 
here’s a cup of gravy that belongs to it,” 
Lucy answered. 

“Why didn’t you eat it yesterday, instead 
of buying fresh meat ?” 

“ It wasn’t enough for a meal, and, besides, 
they never will eat scraps.” 

“A half loaf of bread and some codfish. 
Why, my dear girls, a refrigerator is not 


A FRESH BREEZE. 


49 


intended for such things. And here are a 
few potatoes ; too bad they are overdone, 
but I think we can use them with the cod- 
fish for some balls. That basin of apples 
must be used too ; I see some of them are 
decayed. Those other things, saucers of 
corn and asparagus and other odds and 
ends, must be thrown away; they’re past 
using. After breakfast we will thoroughly 
cleanse that refrigerator.” 

Miss Blake carried part of the things to 
the kitchen-table, Ethel following with the 
rest. 

“ Have you any oatmeal ?” asked Miss 
Blake. 

“ I believe there is a little,” Lucy said. 
“ Father will have oatmeal ; when he’s home 
we have to cook it, but when he’s away we 
never bother.” 

“ Don’t the boys like it ?” 

“ Why, yes, ma’am, they like it, especially 
Rick, but an oatmeal kettle is a mean thing 
to wash, and there’s no use messing it up 
just for Rick ; besides, boys can eat any- 
thing. I believe they have stomachs similar 
to the ostrich’s.” 


4 


50 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 


Rick, coming into the kitchen just then, 
overheard the last remark. 

*‘Aunt Mary,” he said with a good-natured 
laugh, “if the boys in this house don’t have 
stomachs like the ostrich’s, they certainly 
ought to have, to digest the wonderful 
dishes prepared here.” 

“Well, my dear,” Miss Blake replied, 
looking up with laughing eyes, “ we will 
endeavor to have a digestible breakfast 
this morning, at any rate. Will you help 
it along by bringing us a scuttle of coal, 
please ?” 

“Yes, ma’am, I will, and I will see that 
you have a good fire too.” 

“Thank you.” 

As Rick brought in the coal and put 
some in the stove Miss Blake glanced at 
the kitchen-clock. 

“ It is quarter-past six,” she said. “ Now, 
as seven is your breakfast-hour, I will have 
to call myself a general and you my aids to 
do my bidding, or else we shall certainly be 
behind-time.” 

“We await your orders,” Ethel said, bow- 
ing low. 


A FRESH BREEZE. 


51 


Ethel dear, you say your mother awakens 
early and wants her breakfast at the same 
time as the rest of the family. Will you 
arrange her toilet and do whatever else she 
requires while Lucy and I, with Rick’s help, 
prepare breakfast ?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Ethel, leaving the 
kitchen, feeling very much surprised at 
the new state of things, for she was not 
accustomed to troubling herself about her 
mother’s morning appearance, or indeed her 
appearance at any time. Rick shared in 
her surprise. It seemed to him very odd 
indeed to hear his aunt Mary talking about 
his helping prepare breakfast ; he was used 
to being told to “ get out of the kitchen and 
stop bothering.” 

“ Richard dear, will you fill the tea-kettle, 
and then chop this beef for me?” 

Lucy looked amazed to see how quickly 
her brother responded to these requests, 
and how happy he seemed to be this morn- 
ing; there was a new look in his eyes. 

“Lucy, if you will peel the apples now, 
and then afterward set the table neatly, I 
will do the rest.” 


52 THE BLARES AND THE BLOOMS. 

“ I will peel the apples in a twinkling, but 
the clothes have not yet been returned from 
the wash, and I don’t see how I can set the 
table neatly without a clean table-cloth.” 

“I will look at the table in a few minutes 
and see what can be done,” Miss Blake 
said, stirring slowly the creamy-looking oat- 
meal that was cooking. Then, while Lucy 
was peeling the apples, she put into a bak- 
ing-dish the nicely- chopped meat, well sea- 
soned with pepper and salt and moistened 
with gravy ; then a sprinkling of bread- 
crumbs, seasoned too; then more meat pre- 
pared in the same way, and more crumbs 
on top, and then put it in the oven to bake. 

After a hasty visit to the dining-room she 
said, “Wash the table and wipe it thorough- 
ly, Lucy, and set it without a cloth. I saw 
some straw mats on the sideboard ; it would 
be well to lay them over the largest spots. 
A vaseful of those pinks and sprays of 
mignonette from the back yard would grace 
the centre of the table wonderfully, and 1 
think your mother would enjoy a little bunch 
of the flowers ; they would flavor her break- 
fast.” 


A FRESH BREEZE. 


53 


As the clock struck seven, Jamie, with a 
sleepy look, came down, having been awak- 
ened by Rick shouting in his ear, “Shure, 
an’ here’s your nice brekfus’ as usual — 
gar-a-cee per-ta-ters an’ gar-a-cee toof mate, 
an sich brid as might be used fer macada- 
mizing roads, an’ cooffee as looks like mood- 
puddles jist afther the storm.” 

The sleepy look was transformed as by 
magic into a delighted one as he entered 
the dining room and heard his aunt say, 
“ Good-morning, dear boy,” and saw the 
appetizing, nicely-served breakfast on the 
table. 

Poor boy ! he could never remember eat- 
ing such a good breakfast before. Such 
creamy oatmeal ! How different it tasted 
from the tough mess his sisters prepared ! 
Such delicious baked meat-pudding! Jamie 
thought it must be pudding, it looked so — 
Oh, how good it was I 

“It touches the right spot, I tell you. Aunt 
Mary,” he said as she helped him the third 
time, at which she smiled and looked just a 
trifle moist about her eyes. 

And then those golden-brown codfish 


54 the b lakes and the blooms. 

balls! Rick said they capped the climax. 
Besides, there was apple-sauce without a 
seed or a speck of skin or a bit of core, 
and there were milk-toast and “ coffee that 
was coffee,” Rick said appreciatively. 

Soon after breakfast Jamie said to his 
brother, “ I say, Rick, were you up so early 
that you could get all the things for break- 
fast ? Did you go to the city ?” 

*‘No, sir ; I have not been near the city, 
and I wish I didn’t have to go, either, while 
Aunt Mary stays here. But if you are 
anxious to know where the materials of 
that breakfast came from, I can tell you : 
they were the scraps from the refrigerator.” 

“ None of your fooling.” 

“ I tell you there’s no fooling about it. I 
saw the whole breakfast prepared, and I tell 
you it all came out of the scraps — just such 
scraps as the girls have thrown away dozens 
of times, and will throw away again, doubt- 
less, just as soon as Aunt Mary is out of 
the house. I tell you. Aunt Mary knows a 
thing or two.” 

While this conversation was taking place 
in the kitchen Miss Blake was saying to 


A FJ^ESH BREEZE, 


55 


the girls, “ Do you have prayers just after 
breakfast, as was your former custom ? 

The girls looked embarrassed. Ethel’s 
face flushed, but she did not speak; it was 
Lucy who answered: “The truth is, auntie, 
we don’t have family prayers any more. 
Papa, you know, never cared specially for 
them, and since mamma has been sick we 
don’t seem to have the time.” 

Miss Blake looked pained. 

“ I regret to hear this,” she said. “ Time 
devoted to morning prayers never hindered 
work yet ; indeed, as far as my experience 
testifies, it has invariably helped the work 
along. Supposing one of you ask your 
mother if she would like us all to come up 
to her room just a few minutes while we 
read a few verses and offer a short prayer ?” 

“ Mamma is willing, and appears to be 
glad,” Ethel announced after seeing her 
mother. 

So the boys were called, and followed 
their aunt and their sisters up to their 
mother’s room, wondering what the next 
scene was to be. 

The fourteenth chapter of John was read, 


56 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

all the group, even the sick mother, taking 
part, and then Miss Blake offered a short 
prayer, so sweet and earnest that it touched 
all hearts. 

After worship Miss Blake went with her 
nieces back to the kitchen. She replenish- 
ed the fire, and then told the girls how to 
keep a coal-fire ; hitherto this had been an 
unfathomable mystery to them. 

'‘You understand that one always needs 
hot water when there is any housework to 
do ; so we will ask Rick to fill the tank, and 
we will go on with our work.’' 

“ I suppose these dishes must be washed 
first ?” Ethel said, looking as if she had lost 
her last friend. “ I do so abominate dish- 
washing !” 

“ It’s rather difficult to tell what to do first 
where there is so much to be done,” Miss 
Blake said, reflectively; “but I agree with 
you that the dishes ought to be out of the 
way at once ; the longer dishes are left, the 
more time it takes to wash them. As you 
dislike washing them, I will assist you.” 

“No, I will not allow you to work like a 
servant; you will ruin your clothes.” 


A FRESH BREEZE. 


57 


. “No fear of that, my dear. See, here 
are my rubber sleeves,” Miss Blake said, 
taking those articles from her capacious 
pocket and pulling them carefully over her 
dress-sleeves. “ Now I am ready.” 

Ethel produced the dish-pan and a rinsing- 
pan, and two grimy towels that looked as if 
clean water and they were sworn enemies. 
After half filling her dish-pan with warm 
water she announced that she was ready. 

Her aunt tested the water with her finger. 
“It will not do at all,” she said; “you cannot 
expect to have clean dishes if you use luke- 
warm water. We will put the pan on the 
stove ; the water will soon be heated. What 
are these towels for ? — to wipe up the floor ?” 
she asked mischievously. 

“Well, they do look like it, that’s a fact. 
I will see if I cannot find some clean ones.” 

“ Do, please, for if we were to wipe the 
dishes on these towels, the use of our 
washing them might be questioned.” 

“ I declare, there’s not a clean towel in 
the drawer. I came across this old table- 
cloth, though; it looks as if it had gone 
through the wars.” 


58 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

“ Its service as a table-cloth is ended, 
that’s evident at a glance,” Miss Blake 
said, spreading it out; “but give me a pair 
of scissors, please. I can get several good 
wiping-towels out of it. We can use them 
now, and after they are dry we can hem 
them. Now the water is hot; shall I wash 
or wipe, Ethel ?” 

“Suit yourself. Aunt Mary.” 

“ Then I think I will wash them ; I can 
show you my way better. Where is the 
dish-cloth, Ethel ?” 

A ragged black cloth was forthcoming. 
Miss Blake did not touch it ; a look of 
disgust overspread her face, which was 
changed, however, quickly, into one of 
amusement. “That’s an African, and no 
mistake,” she said, laughing ; “ there’s not a 
drop of white blood there. I’m sure. Well, 
the old table-cloth must furnish us a dish- 
cloth too ;” and she tore off a good-sized 
piece of the poorer part of the linen cloth 
and began work. 

“ It’s a treat to see Aunt Mary work,” 
Rick, who had been filling the tank, said to 
Jamie, who was busily cutting kindlings. 


A FRESH BREEZE. 


59 


I say, Jamie, she’s got a great pan of foam- 
ing hot water, and another pan of clean hot 
water that she calls rinsing water, and the 
dishes come out of those pans as clean as 
the water in Stilly Creek. I say, Jamie, 
Aunt Mary’s going to bake; Ethel will 
help, and Lucy is making beds up stairs 
already — not five minutes past eight yet ! 
I tell you, there’s been a change here; a 
fresh breeze is blowing in from somewhere ! 
I guess I’ll run up stairs and see if I can 
help Lucy.” 

“ Whew !” Jamie said to himself ; “ the 
fresh breeze must be blowing Rick along. 
I never knew him to help do the chamber- 
work before.” 

Rick soon came down, bringing two empty 
ewers, which he filled with fresh water and 
carried back. When he again descended to 
the wood-house he said exultingly, “Jamie, 
the beds are made and Lucy is dusting the 
bureaus. Hurrah! Maybe my dream will 
be fulfilled. Perhaps flowers will bloom on 
our window-sill yet. Well, I must get ready 
for school. I wish I didn’t have to go, now 
that Aunt Mary is here. I say, Jamie, I 


6o 


THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 


shouldn’t wonder if Aunt Mary would enjoy 
rambling off somewhere with us.” 

“ Of course she would ; I can see it in her 
eyes,” Jamie answered wisely. 

“ Good-bye, Aunt Mary,” Rick said as he 
entered the kitchen-door. 

“Good-bye, dear boy,” came the warm 
answer. “ I’m sorry you go to school in 
July; why is it?” 

“Well, you see, some of our teachers 
were sick, and so we lost a whole month 
in the winter ; but we’re nearly caught up — 
school closes this week, Friday.” 

“ I am glad of that ; we can have some 
grand walks then.” 

“We’ll take you to Stilly Creek,” said 
Jamie ; “you’ll like it there, I know.” 

“ I’ll like it anywhere you choose to take 
me. The scenery is lovely all about here ; 
it seems as if we were miles in the country, 
instead of within only a half hour’s ride 
of the city.” 

“I would rather live in the city,” Ethel 
said. 

“ Then you and I might exchange homes,” 
her aunt answered. “ I love the country.” 


CHAPTER V. 

GETTING NEAR THE BUGS. 

T last Rick’s desire to show his aunt 



Jr\ the scenery was satisfied. One Sat- 
urday morning she declared herself ready 
for a tramp with her nephews. She had 
prepared a lunch-basket, which Jamie took 
under his care, while Rick shouldered a 
shovel for the purpose of unearthing wood- 
land beauties. After passing by all the 
pretty suburban residences they turned 
from the main road to a narrow lane that 
led into a great meadow of tall grass, which 
they waded through, and then climbed to the 
top of a rolling hill. 

“ This is indeed charming,” said Miss 
Blake, pausing to rest while she admired 
the rich landscape spread before them — a 
long sweep of distance, covered with grasses 
in every shade of green, a valley fair as 


61 


62 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS, 

poet’s dream, a creek foaming a summer 
song, and on one side a belt of woods. 

“I’d like to explore the woods,” Miss 
Blake said, her eyes shining with antici- 
pation. 

“And you shall, of course, as soon as you 
are rested,” Rick replied gallantly. 

“ What a feast this is ! Look at that 
matchless horizon of blue,” Miss Blake re- 
marked, sweeping with her eye the breadth 
of beauty. “ What a Father ours must be,” 
dropping her voice reverently, “to make 
this world so beautiful ! How it exhilarates 
one to remember that we are children of 
the Creator of all this loveliness, this beauty 
of color and sweetness of sound!” 

“ I never thought of that before,” ob- 
served Jamie ; at which Rick laughed and 
said, 

“ I guess there are a good many things 
we haven’t thought of, and we’re so used to 
pretty scenery that we haven’t appreciated 
it.” 

“You would appreciate it, then, if your 
home-boundaries were brick walls, as mine 
are when at home.” 


GETTING NEAR THE BUGS. 63 

“ Can’t you see the sky ?” asked matter- 
of-fact Jamie. 

“Oh yes, indeed — the sky and the sun, 
but no sunsets, no belt of woods, no blue 
hills, no bright, free goldfinches twittering 
their joy.” 

“ Somehow, it has never seemed so pleas- 
ant here as it does to-day,” Rick said, pull- 
ing down a tall sunflower and rifling it of its 
ripened seed. 

“ I will take the day home with me in my 
mind’s gallery,” Miss Blake said smilingly ; 
and then, as both boys darted off after a 
squirrel hopping along a stump fence, she 
gave herself up for the time to the enjoy- 
ment of perfect rest. A humming-bird 
flitted over her; insects chirped drowsily 
in the grass ; a bright-eyed grass-bird peer- 
ed up into her face ; and the soft winds 
rustled the trees above her. As soon as 
the boys returned they all went to the 
woods, wandering about for a couple of 
hours, resting here and there to unearth 
some desirable roots or to pluck flowers or 
to listen to the clear song of some wild 
bird. 


64 THE SLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

Miss Blake helped Rick wonderfully in 
his botany by analyzing every odd leaf or 
bud he chose to ask her about. They ate 
their dinner in the woods, in a sort of clear- 
ing into which just enough sun found its 
way to make it a delightful spot to tarry in. 

“Fm as hungry as a hunter,” said Jamie, 
devouring his third sandwich speedily. 

“I am hungry too; these woods are a 
good tonic,” Aunt Mary said. “You need 
not make out your entire lunch on sand- 
wiches, Jamie ; here is a broiled chicken.” 
As she spoke she lifted up a white cloth 
and revealed broiled chicken and crullers. 

“ Oh, auntie !” Both boys spoke at once. 

“You did not know it, did you? Well, 
it will taste all the better because it is a 
surprise. A little lame boy brought two 
chickens to the house last evening, and I 
bought them, and I broiled them before you 
were up. One I left at home for your 
mother and the girls.” 

The empty lunch-basket was refilled with 
violets and wild roses, larkspurs and blue 
gentian. Flowers were everywhere star- 
ring the fields, guarding the brook, peeping 


GETTING NEAR THE BUGS. 65 

out sweet faces even from moss-covered 
stumps. 

Three hours after the lunch Miss Blake 
sat down, laughing, on the brink of Stilly 
Creek, and said, “I don’t believe I have 
had such a tramp before since I was a child, 
but it has done me good ; I feel as if I had 
renewed my youth.” 

“ But you are very tired. Aunt Mary ; I 
can see that,” said Rick. 

“It is a healthy weariness. I think I would 
enjoy frequent attacks of it.” 

“And now you can enjoy a good healthy 
rest ; we can stay here an hour, and then 
reach home by supper-time. Do you want 
to see Jamie and me play child and alliga- 
tor in Stilly Creek ?” asked Rick. 

“Yes ; if the alligator don’t really devour 
the child, I have no objections,” Aunt Mary 
answered, laughing. 

The boys rolled up their pants as high as 
they could get them, and then plunged into 
the creek, Rick, playing the ferocious alli- 
gator, and Jamie the frightened child. Of 
course, the alligator rushed after the child 
with open mouth, but the child only laughed 
5 


66 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

as he evaded the outstretched clutches. 
Such chasing and shouting and laughing 
and capering would have called forth a 
storm of rebuke from the boys’ sisters had 
they been there, but their aunt only laughed 
with them and seemed to enjoy it as well 
as they. They both came near falling flat, 
and for fear they would she called, “ Come 
now, please; I think our faces ought to be 
turned homeward.” 

The boys came at her bidding, wiped off 
their feet with their rather soiled handker- 
chiefs, put on their shoes and stockings, 
and said they were ready. 

“ If you would like to go back by a dif- 
ferent route you can,” said Rick. 

“Let us do so, then. You lead, and 
Jamie and I will follow.” 

“ I want to show you an old-fashioned 
house,” Rick said, after leading the way for 
about ten minutes. “Look there, auntie.” 

He pointed as he spoke to a quaint old 
farm-house very much out of repair, but 
situated amidst pleasant surroundings. 

“That’s a picturesque place, I must say,” 
his aunt commented. 


GETTING NEAR THE BUGS. 


67 


“Yes, ma’am, so it is, but it’s a run-down 
place too, just like ours. It belongs to 
papa, and some Germans live in it. A 
man who took care of our grounds when 
they were taken care of used to live in it.” 

The girls were making preparations for 
an early supper when Miss Blake and the 
boys returned, so the former went into the 
kitchen to assist. The first thing she did 
was to cut the bread, calling forth this 
remark from Lucy, “ How beautiful you cut 
bread. Aunt Mary !” 

The smooth, even slices piled upon the 
plate were indeed worthy of admiration. 

“I consider bread-cutting one of my 
accomplishments,” Miss Blake answered, 
laughing, “ and it is an accomplishment 
every woman should possess. It is any- 
thing but inviting to see roughly-cut bread, 
the jagged slices of varying thickness, 
thrown any way upon the bread-plate.” 

“ Going to have a rousing supper, Lucy ?” 
asked Rick, coming in. 

“No, of course not; you don’t need a 
rousing supper such warm weather,” she 
replied. 


68 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

“ But we’re almost starved tramping over 
hills and through the woods, and we need a 
cooked supper,” protested Rick. “You’re 
hungry, aren’t you, Aunt Mary?” 

“Well,” she said, laughing, “I must con- 
fess that our tramp has been an appetizer.” 

“ Then, for your sake, I wish we had some 
fresh meat to cook, but we have not,” Ethel 
said regretfully. 

“ Suppose we have some eggs ? You are 
fortunate in having so many eggs,” said 
Aunt Mary. “There is nothing daintier 
than a fresh, new-laid egg, and then there 
are such a varjety of ways to cook it that 
one can please all tastes.” 

“ I am real glad we have something that 
will taste good to you,” Lucy said, bringing 
in a basin of eggs. “Our folks have got 
sick and tired of them. We either scram- 
ble them or boil them hard.” 

“ Don’t they like them in some other 
form? Or have they not had an oppor- 
tunity to decide?” asked Miss Blake with 
an amused smile. 

“I guess the opportunity has failed to 
present itself,” laughed Lucy. 


GETTING NEAR THE BUGS. 69 

“ Suppose it shows itself now ?” suggested 
Miss Blake. “ Shall I make a ham omelet ?” 

“ If you care to bother I wish you would,” 
was the reply; and Lucy brought out the 
ham bone, with a trifle of meat adhering to 
it. Both of the girls watched Miss Blake 
as she cut off the meat, chopped it fine, and 
put it in a coffee-cup, which it just filled. 
She then took six eggs,, beat them slightly, 
just enough to amalgamate whites and 
yelks, added to them a salt-spoon of salt, 
and then, putting two teaspoons of flour 
into two-thirds of a coffee-cup of milk, the 
whole was stirred slightly together. She 
then heated a trifle of butter in a pan very 
hot, and put the mixture in, stirring it until 
it was set, and then removing it to the back 
part of the stove, where it soon browned 
nicely. Then, taking a warm dish from the 
hearth and the cup of chopped ham, she 
emptied the latter carefully upon the egg, 
and doubled the omelet over it, transferring 
it a moment later to the warm dish, where 
it lay looking delicious and appetizing, gar- 
nished with some sprigs of curled parsley. 

“You can, instead of the ham, put in the 


70 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

middle of your omelet asparagus, mush- 
rooms, finely-chopped oysters or other 
things that you like.” 

“ How did you ever learn to cook every- 
thing so nice ?” asked Ethel, admiringly. 

“Little by little,” Aunt Mary replied, 
toasting some bread. “ Now, if you will 
sit right down to supper, and let me run up 
to your mother with this slice of toast and 
a bit of the omelet, I will be glad. — Jamie, 
you bring a bunch of the wild flowers, will 
you, please?” 

“ How tired you must be after your long 
tramp, and yet you remember me !” the 
invalid said gratefully as she looked at 
her nice supper and then into the face of 
her sister-in-law ; for she did look weary, 
and she felt so too. 

“ I would be a strange sister if I did not 
remember you who have been shut up here 
in this dull, close room while I have been 
enjoying myself out of doors in our Father’s 
beautiful world.” 

Miss Blake retired early that night; so 
did the boys. The latter overslept in the 
morning, but the former arose at the usual 


GETTING NEAR THE BUGS. 


71 


time. Soon after breakfast she asked the 
girls if there was any plain sewing they 
would like to have her do. 

“We have nothing cut out,” answered 
Lucy; “we can hardly get time to do our 
mending.” 

“ It takes so much time to embroider 
banners and scarf-stands and — ” said Rick, 
teasingly. 

“Attend to your own affairs, Rick Blake,” 
Lucy said crossly. 

“ I will attend to my own affairs,” Rick 
said, putting on a determined look. “My 
own affairs are my own old clothes and 
things. — Auntie, I don’t like to have you 
bother with sewing, but if you really are 
suffering to use a needle and thread. I’ll 
give you some subjects to work on.” 

“ Bring on your subjects, dear ; I will look 
them over and see what their diseases are,” 
she answered. 

Rick went out of the dining-room and ran 
up stairs with long strides, returning soon 
with a huge bundle of clothes, which he 
dumped at his aunt’s feet, to her amusement, 
although to his sisters’ consternation. Rick 


72 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

was a good singer, but it was with a comical 
twang that he sang — 


“ Hark ! hark J hear the dogs bark ; 

The beggars are coming to town — 

Some in rags, and some in tags, 

But na^ a velvet gaown'^ 

His aunt and his sisters laughed, the lat- 
ter not because they wanted to, but because 
they could not help it. While they were 
laughing Rick displayed his shirts, waving 
them at full length. They had slits here 
and there, and were buttonless, and one of 
them had lost nearly half a sleeve. 

“You see, they have the merit of being 
airy, auntie,” he said, mischievously. “Are 
they of any earthly use ? Or could they be 
used for porous plasters ?” 

“ Some of them can be put into the rag- 
bag ; here are three that I can mend. Are 
these all the shirts you have, my boy ?” 

“Yes, ma’am. Fm in rather a dilapidated 
condition, now ain’t I ?” 

“ Rather, but we’ll mend you up, Rick child. 
Where did all these socks come from ?” 

“ Been accumulating for a long time. You 


GETTING NEAR THE BUGS. 73 

see, papa won’t wear socks with holes, and, 
as the holes will come, and papa won’t wear 
them, the girls turn them over to me, holes 
and all, and he buys new ones for himself.” 

All that day and all the evening Miss 
Blake darned socks and mended shirts. 
The next day, finding that there was an 
unused machine in the house, she brought 
it out, cleaned and oiled it, and went to 
work in good earnest for the boys. Rick 
went to the city for muslin and linen, and 
before a week had passed away he and 
Jamie were rejoicing in new shirts, and 
welhmended socks and other undercloth- 
ing. New ties and handkerchiefs were also 
bought for them, and they began to “ feel like 
somebody,” Jamie said gratefully. 

^What a woman Aunt Mary is!” Rick 
said, almost overwhelmed with admiration. 


CHAPTER VI. 

MISS BLOOM. 

I T was certainly far from pleasant, this 
street into which Miss Hannah Bloom 
had just moved, but then there were many 
worse ones in the city, and she did not com- 
plain of her surroundings. 

“You see,” she said to Kathie, her young 
niece and only relative, “ although it is a 
pretty rough street, and it would perhaps 
be better for us for many reasons if we 
were in a nice, quiet neighborhood, it has 
its advantages.” 

“I can’t see where they are,” Kathie 
answered, scornfully. “ Perhaps I am blind 
not to discover some advantages in old 
worn-out houses tottering over this horrid, 
ungainly street.” 

“No particular advantage in the shabby 
tenements. I’ll admit,” Miss Hannah replied. 

74 


MISS BLOOM. 


75 


“ I was thinking of their inmates. I believe, 
Kathie, that we shall never lack opportunities 
in this locality to serve our Master. We 
must look about us and take a friendly 
interest in our neighbors.” 

“ In the butcher and the baker and the 
candlestick-maker,” laughed Kathie, going 
to the window. “ Oh, look here. Aunt Han- 
nah ! See that hawker of cheap glass-ware 
across the way, and that shiftless-looking, 
dirty woman hanging over the gate, and 
those grimy children playing in the gutter ! 
It will be delightful to take a friendly interest 
in them, will it not?” 

“ It may not be delightful, but it may be 
our duty, nevertheless. See that pale-faced 
child sitting at the window ; she must be an 
invalid, poor little thing! We’ll have our 
hands full, Kathie.” 

Full 1 I should think so ; that is, if you 
are intending to adopt the whole neighbor- 
hood.” 

A moment later Miss Hannah called 
Kathie to help put down a carpet. Above 
the noise made by the hammering of tacks 
her voice arose in song : 


^6 THE BLAKE S AND THE BLOOMS. 


“ Yes ! hungry, and ye gave me food ; 
Athirst, and ye refreshed my soul ; 

A stranger, and ye did me good ; 

And sick, and ye did make me whole. 
In every child of want each one 
A proxy for his Lord may see ; 

‘ What to the least of these is done,’ 
Saith my dear Lord, ‘ is done to me^ ” 


The close of the week found Miss Bloom’s 
new house all arranged to her satisfaction. 
There were only three rooms, besides a 
shed and a low shed-chamber used for a 
store-loft. One room, facing the street, she 
called her sitting-room. Its two windows 
were curtained with crimson drapery hung 
upon rods ; so was the doorway leading 
into the kitchen. Upon the walls hung 
two or three pictures, one of them that of 
a beautiful young girl whose tender eyes 
were always smiling upon Miss Hannah, 
and somehow cheered her when her heart 
grew heavy. A neat, inexpensive carpet 
covered the floor and brightened the room, 
thus doing double duty, which is more 
than can be said of some costly ones. Its 
groundwork was a dull brown, but nearly 
hiding it were thickly-strewn leaves of 


M/SS BLOOM. 


77 


apple-green and apple-blossoms. Before 
each window was a cozy cushioned rocking- 
chair. Near Miss Hannah’s rocker stood a 
sewing-machine, her “ right-hand man,” and 
“her only man,” she sometimes said. Near 
Kathie’s chair was a standing willow-work 
basket. Between the windows was the 
large workstand with its burden of work, 
for Miss Bloom and her niece “ took in 
sewing ” now, although one short year ago 
wealth had been theirs. A lounge, broad, 
soft and inviting, covered with simple fig- 
ured cretonne ; a centre-table with a spread 
of crimson felt, upon which were strewn a 
few books, magazines and papers; two or 
three chairs for “droppers-in;” a bird, a 
couple of plants, and I believe I have 
described the contents of the room. 

Over the sitting-room was the sleeping 
apartment, with its beds fresh and white. 
Back of the sitting-room was the kitchen, 
a small room, and yet large enough to be 
used as a dining-room. Indeed, it made a 
very pleasant dining-room, for when Miss 
Hannah and Kathie were seated at the 
small square table partaking of their simple 


yS THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

fare they could not see stove, soiled kettle 
or kitchen table, all such necessary acces- 
sories of a comfortable meal being com- 
pletely hidden by a large screen, which, 
though originally a clothes-horse, had been 
transformed into a “thing of beauty,” even 
if not destined to be “a joy for ever.” 

I have described these very ordinary 
rooms of Miss Hannah Bloom’s only for 
the purpose of contrasting her home 
•with the homes of poverty and degrada- 
tion abounding in that undesirable street. 
There were some happy homes, however. 
Here and there, like an oasis in a wilder- 
ness, was gathered a family, dwelling in 
love and peace. But unhappiness and 
wretchedness were the rule, and the little 
pale-faced invalid over the way, who had 
touched Miss Bloom’s heart to pity, was 
only a representative of a large class of 
human beings who called that street home. 
Of course Miss Bloom did not expect to be 
able to help all these people, but she did 
expect to sow seed whenever opportunity 
offered. That was why she bought a tiny 
bunch of flowers from a frail boy who was 


MISS BLOOM. 


79 


selling them on a street-corner, and gave 
them to the little invalid. 

“That was killing two birds with one 
stone,” she said to Kathie, who had re- 
marked that she thought they were too 
poor to buy flowers to give away. “We 
are not so poor that we cannot buy a few 
blossoms once in a while for some of God’s 
little ones.” 

And Kathie was silenced, and influenced 
too, for soon afterward she bought some 
oranges for the same child, and was 
touched even to tears at the recipient’s 
expressions of delight. 

Before Miss Bloom had been in her new 
home two weeks, her sympathy had won 
her many friends, and her helpfulness had 
called down many blessings upon her head. 
Into her tender, listening ear more than one 
had whispered a tale of sorrow. A dying 
mother had, through Miss Bloom’s in- 
fluence, exchanged her look of despair for 
that bright look that comes only with the 
“ peace that passeth understanding.” A 
little child who had known no earthly love 
(being the offspring of a castaway) until 


8o 


THE BLARES AND THE BLOOMS. 


Miss Bloom’s tenderness flooded her soul, 
died with her hand clasped within that of 
the dear one who had pointed her to the 
golden ladder reaching up to the great 
white throne. 

And one day, when Miss Bloom had 
been extremely hurried with her sewing, an 
emaciated woman with tattered garb had 
come to her door, and with quivering lips 
had told her tale of sorrow and had begged 
her advice. I’m a widow,” she said, “ and 
my only child is in jail for drunkenness and 
theft. Can you do anything for me ?” 

Miss Bloom looked distressed. Kathie, 
pitying her aunt, whispered, “ Of course 
you cannot do anything for her, auntie ; 
tell her so and let her go.” 

But Miss Bloom recovered herself. Into 
her mind came these words, “ I was a stran- 
ger, and ye took me in,” and these followed, 
“ I was in prison, and ye came unto me.” 

“Sit down, my poor woman,” she said in 
obedience to the suggestion embodied in 
those first words echoing in her brain — “ a 
stranger, and ye took me in.” 

She gave her a chair and offered her a 


M/SS BLOOM. 


8i 


lunch and a cup of tea. The lunch was 
refused, but the tea was drank eagerly and 
with thanks. 

Then came the woman’s tale of poverty 
and want, verging on the confines of star- 
vation. Food was given her to take home, 
and as her weary face turned from her 
benefactor’s door it grew a shade brighter 
as these words of Miss Bloom brought her 
a bit of comfort : I expect a gentleman 
friend here soon on an errand, and I will 
tell your troubles to him, and I think he 
may be able to help you, as he is a member 
of the relief committee.” 

Some hours later this member of the re- 
lief committee, a Mr. Hume, accompanied 
Miss Bloom to the room where the poor 
woman lived, found her pitiful story to be 
true in every particular, and gave her sub- 
stantial aid. He furthermore cheered her 
by informing her that he would visit the 
jail with Miss Bloom and see what could 
be done for her son. 

That was a gloomy place, that jail where 
the young man was confined, and his face 
looked gaunt as he emerged from a cell at 


82 THE SLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

the keeper’s bidding to show himself to the 
visitors who had come to see him. Tor- 
turing thoughts came into his mind as he 
walked slowly along toward the light. He 
feared to look up, but started and raised his 
eyes deprecatingly as he heard a sweet voice 
say, “ My poor boy, I am sorry for you.” 
He stood tearless and calm in a listening 
attitude. Had he heard aright ? Had that 
lady, so sweet-looking, expressed sorrow 
for him ? 

“ My poor boy, I am sorry for you,” again 
that voice spoke. 

Yes, the boy had heard aright. A quick 
flush overspread his cheeks, his eyes grew 
bright, as his soul was stirred by some 
emotion altogether new to him, and he 
sank down upon the bare floor with a 
sobbing moan. 

Miss Bloom put out her hand and touched 
his shoulder, saying gently, “And, my poor 
boy, the Saviour who died for you is sorry 
too, and is waiting to comfort you.” 

I cannot enter into all the details of Miss 
Bloom’s visit to the jail, but that boy, by 
God’s wonder-working power, arose from 


M/SS BLOOM. 83 

his prostrate position “ clothed and in his 
right mind.” 

Years afterward, when he had become a 
man of integrity trusted by all, he told a 
friend that his first step toward the Rock 
Jesus Christ had been taken at the very 
moment when Miss Bloom’s pity had stirred 
his soul to its very core. 

And so that prison-visit had proved the 
human means through which a soul found 
its Redeemer, 


Plucked, like a brand, from the conflagration — 
Cleansed, like a garment, free from stain !” 


CHAPTER VII. 


WID O W HEPB URN. 

“ T WONDER if Dr. Gay has a patient on 
1 this street?” said Kathie from the win- 
dow ; “ I’ve seen him pass twice to-day. I 
mean to watch here till he comes back and 
ask him.” 

“Well, that’s a good resolve if your pur- 
pose is something more than mere curi- 
osity,” answered her aunt. 

“ I’m sure I don’t intend to take care of 
the doctor’s patients, if that’s what you 
mean. My hands are full now.” Kathie 
spoke a trifle fretfully. 

“Your hands are full, dear, there’s no 
denying that, and yet no one’s hands are 
ever so full as to justify them in entirely 
ignoring the Master’s work. There’s Dr. 
Gay now, Kathie; run to the door.” 

Although Dr. Gay was driving fast, he 
stopped in answer to the young girl’s call. 

84 


WIDOW HEPBURN. 


35 


Reining his horse up to the broken curb- 
stone, he said, “Who’s sick? Call Miss 
Hannah ; be quick, please. I’ll answer 
your question.” 

Miss Bloom came to the door, and the 
doctor said abruptly, “You remember Jen- 
nie Denning Dartmuth?” 

“ The dear little school-teacher from 
Crane’s Hollow? Indeed I do.” 

“Well, it’s Jennie Denning Dartmuth 
who is sick, and very sick. She’s Mrs. 
Hepburn now, a widow with four children. 
Poor soul ! so poor ! so friendless ! so dis- 
consolate ! You’ll look in upon her; you’ll 
be her friend, I know. Miss Hannah. She 
lives only a block above you — corner house, 
right-hand side. Good-bye.” 

Just at dusk Miss Bloom entered Mrs. 
Hepburn’s home. There was very little 
resemblance to the pretty school-teacher 
of bygone days in the faded, weary face 
of the widow, but her eyes lighted up with 
a glow of the old tender light as she recog- 
nized her former friend. 

Miss Bloom’s eyes glistened with tears 
of sorrow as she held the thin hands of the 


86 


THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 


widow and listened to her low-voiced tale 
of sadness. 

“ Tve had a weary time for years past,” 
she said, “and oh how glad I would be to 
go to my eternal rest if I could take all of 
my little flock with me ! The saddest part 
of dying is the thought of leaving them 
here to fight their way alone.” 

Over in the little window the four chil- 
dren were grouped. The eldest was a lad 
of fourteen, the youngest a boy of five ; 
between were two girls aged ten and 
twelve. The girls were leaning against 
their elder brother’s shoulders, and the lit- 
tle boy was seated on his knee. 

Glancing at them, Miss Bloom said, “You 
have a precious family, Jennie.” 

“Indeed I have. No mother ever had 
better children, and Jack is a help to me 
beyond all price. I have great hopes of 
him, and I believe when I am gone he will 
lead the others upward to God and their 
waiting mother. I shall leave them in the 
hands of our Lord.” 

The rapt look upon the pale face, the 
upward glance of the fading eyes, the 


WIDOW HEPBUKH. 


87 

involuntary reaching forward as if to touch 
His hands, Miss Bloom never forgot. All 
that night she watched beside the sick 
woman, tenderly ministering to her and 
cheering her with words of consolation. A 
few days passed away, Miss Bloom never 
wavering in her attentions. No invalid 
could have daintier dishes prepared than 
those carried to the poor dying widow ; no 
weary head could rest on softer pillow than 
the one taken from Miss Bloom’s own bed 
to comfort the sick woman. But one morn- 
ing, as Miss Bloom approached the house, 
she saw a bit of rusty crape floating from 
the door-knob, and knew that Mrs. Hep- 
burn’s little ones were “in the hands of the 
Lord.” 

A kind neighbor opened the door for her 
and led her into a little room, where the 
dead woman’s children were grouped, just 
as Miss Bloom had seen them that first 
night. Their eyes were red with weeping, 
but Jack arose and gave her a chair, strug- 
gling to speak, but failing. Then he went 
back to his seat, and little Tom again crept 
into his arms. 


88 THE SLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

Miss Bloom’s heart was stirred to deep 
sympathy. She went over to him, took his 
hand and said, “Jack, dear boy!” 

He looked up, fixing his brown, trusting 
eyes full upon her face. What a noble face 
he had ! Miss Bloom felt its goodness. 
“Jack dear,’' she said tenderly, “mother 
has gone, and I know it must be terribly 
lonely without her, but she has left you in 
a safe place — in the hands of the Lord. He 
will help you to climb up to where the sun- 
shine is falling.” 

Jack fully intended to climb up into the 
light, but somehow now all was darkness — 
a darkness that seemed to bind him with a 
chain which could not be broken. 

After the three younger children were 
asleep that night, worn out with weeping, 
Jack stole softly into the room where his 
dead mother lay, kissed her face and hands 
over and over again and bathed them with 
his tears. 

Miss Bloom, who had seen the boy go 
to the closed, still room, worried at the 
length of time he remained there. At last 
she too went in, led Jack away from the 


WIDOW HEPBURN. 89 

cold form, and with her arm around him 
said comfortingly, “ Come, Jack, the Lord 
knows of this pang. He is waiting to com- 
pass you about with his divine sympathy.” 

Every day during the week that followed 
Miss Bloom called upon the orphan chil- 
dren, but she could not continue this con- 
stant going to and fro, because it interfered 
greatly with her own work, which must be 
done to obtain the necessaries of life for 
Kathie and herself. She thought of the 
children with a heartache, and yet with ad- 
miration, for they were an unusually inter- 
esting group. There was little Tom, with 
his full fair face, his round blue eyes and 
his loving nature ; Gertie, with her sweet 
face, her beautiful hair, her tender ways and 
her blind eyes ; Dora, with her bright eyes 
and wise ways ; and Jack, dear Jack, with 
his auburn hair, his loving eyes, his firm 
mouth and his noble bearing. 

“Truly,” thought Miss Bloom, “Jennie 
was rich in her children; one could bear 
much poverty and distress for the sake of 
such treasures.” 

She wished her circumstances were such 


90 THE BLARES AND THE BLOOMS. 

as to allow her to adopt them all ; she felt 
that she would certainly do it. 

“Jack dear, what have you to live on? 
what are you going to do ?” she asked earn- 
estly. 

“We’ve nothing to live on, but I’ll earn 
something somewhere,” Jack answered with 
flushed face, his eyes shining with a “do- 
and-dare” light. 

But another week passed on without the 
boy finding much to do. Had it not been 
for Miss Bloom’s benevolence the orphan 
children would have suffered for the neces- 
saries of life. 

It was a hot summer’s day ; Miss Bloom, 
bending over her sewing, felt it intensely, 
and yet she was not fretting over her own 
heated condition, but was thinking with 
anxiety of the orphans. 

“ Kathie,” she said after a brown study, 
“I believe I’ll have to look up a place for 
Jack ; perhaps a few words from me might 
turn the scales in the right direction. I 
believe I’ll drop my sewing for a while and 
go out in search of a rainbow.” 

“ A rainbow ? Why, Aunt Hannah, when 


m£> 0 JV HEPB URN. 9 1 

have we had any rain ?” exclaimed matter- 
of-fact Kathie. 

“Yes, a rainbow for poor Jack’s sky is 
what I’m to look up. Good-bye, Kathie,” 
laughed her aunt. 

She went out into the street under the 
hot sun, not realizing how far into Jack’s 
life this one little kindly act would extend. 
But this was her way, sowing seed broad- 
cast, throwing ropes to save the sinking, 
giving encouragement to revive the droop- 
ing, sprinkling blessed words and acts all 
along life’s pathway. At the first corner 
she turned aside from this undesirable 
street and crossed over to the next, where 
there was great improvement. With a 
silent prayer for guidance she walked slow- 
ly on. She did not want Jack to be a boot- 
black or a newsboy ; such employments, 
she feared, would surround him with too 
great temptations, nor were they the thing 
for such a lad, 

“ Dear Jack !” she said to herself in a 
tender way, “ so manly and bright ! and yet 
who knows but he may have inherited a 
taste for liquor? If I were a married 


92 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

woman, such a boy of my very own would 
give me intense joy. Indeed, as it is, if^ I 
w^ere rich I would love to adopt him, though 
he would not be dependent upon any one, 
that I know ; dependence would gall him. 
And what a tender-hearted boy he is, long- 
ing so intensely for his dear mother, and 
yet comforting the other children in his 
cheery way !” 

After inquiring, without avail, of several 
small shopkeepers whom she knew, and 
after nearly an hour’s search, she paused 
at a small corner-grocery kept by a man 
named Daniel Culter, who had once, in her 
days of affluence, served her in the capacity 
of coachman. 

After pleasant greetings had been ex- 
changed, Miss Bloom, plunging immediate- 
ly into business, inquired, “Want to hire a 
boy, Daniel ?” 

“You wouldn’t think I’d need to hwe any 
boys. Miss Bloom,” he answered respect- 
fully, but with a smile, “ if you could see the 
raft of ’em we’ve got over to our shanty.” 

Miss Bloom laughed. “ Yes, I have been 
told,” she said, “that you are bountifully 


WIDOW HEPBURN. 


93 


supplied with little boys, but I thought you 
might like to hire an older boy to help you 
in your grocery. Don’t you ever have help 
here, Daniel?” 

“Yes, miss, I have help, off an’ on — more 
times off than on— but, somehow, I be one 
of the unfortunate ones, always gitting bit.” 

“ I don’t understand you.” 

“Well, you see, they be shiftless or 
thievin’ or lyin’ — some one thing an’ some 
another — but none of ’em wuth keepin’ ; 
so I’ve steered clear from the whole crew, 
an’ I paddle my own canoe.” 

“ But if you could get a nice honest boy, 
Daniel, one of the right sort, a bright, quick 
boy, would you hire him ?” 

“That ^ be a great gulf; ye can’t get 
’cross it no way,” said Daniel, laughing. “If 
there was sich a boy I’d take him, ’cause I’m 
a-gitting kind o’ lazy and stiff with rheuma- 
tics ; but, ye see, there ain’t.” 

“ I know such a boy. Seeing you have 
no customers, may I tell you a little story ?” 

“Yes, Miss Hannah; glad I’ll be to hear 
you tell one o’ your stories. I be no Irish 
blarney, but I’ll never forget the day your 


94 the slakes and the blooms. 

sweet voice told me the old, old story, as 
ye called it. I’ve never forgot it, nor never 
will, God bless ye ; an’ though the road is 
often rough, an’ often I be a-flounderin’ in 
the dark, I reach out an’ feel His hand ye 
told me about, an’ I feel safe, an’ the light 
comes, an’ I be lifted on to my feet again.” 

Miss Bloom was much affected by the 
grocer’s words, but she steadied her voice 
and said questioningly, “ Daniel, you re- 
member the little country school-teacher. 
Miss Dartmuth?” 

“ Ay, miss, I remember her, an’ the bas- 
kets of clothes you used to send her, an’ 
the flowers ; an’ I remember too how once, 
when she seemed pining way, an’ folks said 
as how the grave’d soon take her, you sent 
me fur her, an’ kept her a month, an’ treated 
her as if she was the grandest lady in the 
land, an’ — ” 

“ Never mind all that, Daniel ; those were 
little attentions that I deserve no credit for; 
I was able to give them, and she needed 
them. To begin my story. This dear little 
Miss Dartmuth married a man whose bright- 
est hopes went out in the blackness of night 


WIDOW HEPBURN. 


95 


because of his bondage to the wine-cup. 
On her dying bed she told me enough of 
her history to blind my eyes with tears. 
Her husband was wealthy when he married 
her, and it took some years to sink his for- 
tune, but it was done. From the beautiful 
home which she entered soon after her mar- 
riage to the little bare room in which she 
breathed her last, there was a gradual but 
sure descent. Care and grief had so 
changed her once beautiful face that you 
would not have recognized it ; but, though 
physically she was a wreck, she was one of 
the sweetest of God’s creatures. In one of 
her last talks with me she said, ‘ My God has 
forgiven me for marrying a man who drank, 
but oh what a punishment has been mine I 
Not alone poverty and disgrace — both I 
could have borne better than his drunken 
fury, striking me and mocking me when I 
wept or prayed.’ When this abused mother 
died, Daniel, she left her little ones in the 
hands of the Lord. There are two little 
girls, one of them blind, and two boys, the 
younger not much more than a baby, and 
the other one a fine lad of fourteen ; he it 


96 THE SLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

is for whom I am interceding. Our Lord 
works by human means, you know.” 

“ So he does, Miss Hannah,” said Daniel 
heartily, but with a tremor in his rough 
voice, ‘‘and here are some human hands 
that’ll help the Lord in this case.” 

“ Do you mean you will take the boy ?” 
Miss Bloom asked, joyfully. 

“Yes, miss. I’ll take him. Bring him 
along as soon as you’ve a mind to.” 

Miss Bloom extended her hand to the 
grocer, who shook it warmly. 

“ Thank you, Daniel ; I believe you will 
have your reward,” she said; and the man, 
to whom thanks were always embarrassing, 
replied, “ Don’t need no thanks. Miss Han- 
nah ; ye see. I’ll be only good to myself in 
getting a smart boy to wait on me an’ my 
customers, an’ I don’t deserve no thanks.” 

All the same. Miss Bloom thanked him 
heartly. Then, leaving an order for tea, 
sugar, spices and crackers, she paid for 
them and went out. She felt so thankful 
and happy all the way home that she could 
hardly refrain from singing aloud, and once 
or twice she found herself humming softly. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


LITTLE TIM. 


NE morning there came a knock at 



the back door. Kathie, opening it, 
found there two ragged children. 

“Please, ma’am, we’re awful hungry; 
could you give us a bit of somethin’ ?” 

“What are your names? whose children 
are you ?” asked Kathie, who always entered 
into particulars. 

“ Dolly and Tilly we be and then, with 
lowered voice, “We be Old Tom’s children,” 
one of them answered. 

“Well,” said Kathie coldly, thinking of 
the drunken brute known in the neighbor- 
hood as “ Old Tom,” “ stay here and I’ll get 
you something and, with the thought 
that anything was good enough for the 
drunkard’s children, she picked up a lunch 
consisting of a small piece of meat that was 
slightly soured, a slice of very hard bread 
7 97 


98 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 


and a bit of mouldy cheese. Just as it was 
ready Miss Bloom entered the kitchen. 

“Hungry, eh?” she said, laughing; “so 
soon after breakfast, too ? That smoked 
beef did taste good this morning; it has 
given me an appetite.” 

“ But this is not for me, and the smoked 
beef is safe in the closet,” explained Kathie, 
displaying her lunch. 

“For some stray dog, is it?” questioned 
her aunt, much amused. 

“ No,” laughed Kathie ; “ it’s for old 
drunken Tom’s children ; they’ve come 
begging at the back door.” 

“ Oh, Kathie !” There was real pain in 
the exclamation. 

“ It’s plenty good enough for them ; they’re 
almost starved, they say,” Kathie replied, but 
her cheeks flushing. 

Almost starved^ and you offer your 
Saviour what we would not, could not 
eat?” 

“ My Saviour?” said Kathie, aghast. 

“ Kathie dear, think a moment,” said 
Miss Bloom. “ What does this mean ? — 
‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one 


LITTLE TIM. 


99 


of the least of these my brethren, ye 
have done it unto me.’ ” 

“ Oh, Aunt Hannah, I didn’t think of that. 
I’ll give the poor little things the very best 
I can pick up.” And repentant Kathie 
gave Old Tom’s neglected little ones such 
a meal as they had not tasted for many a 
long month, and gave them besides some 
tender words that brightened their lives so 
much that they never forgot them. 

“Auntie,” she said a day or two after- 
ward, “ I saw Old Tom staggering home an 
hour ago. My! how he did look with his 
uncombed, long hair sticking out like a 
small haystack and his watery, bloodshot 
eyes ! There was nothing left of his hat 
except the crown, and his pantaloons were 
so ragged that they looked as if they could 
scarcely hold together. I believe he has 
been fighting as well as drinking.” 

“ Probably he has, and perhaps he is 
abusing those poor little girls of his now. 
It is only a few steps to Old Tom’s. How 
would you like to run over there and see 
if Dolly and Tilly are safe ?” 

“Oh, auntie! what an idea! Supposing 


100 THE BLARES AND THE BLOOMS. 

they are not safe, what could I do with a 
drunken man ?” 

“ Well, then, I will go.” 

And Miss Bloom a few moments after- 
ward entered the drunkard’s home. He 
was asleep ; so, after comforting the weep- 
ing children and giving them some nourish- 
ing food, she returned home. 

The beauty of Miss Bloom’s good deeds, 
as every one can see, was that she was 
willing to serve her Master by doing “ what 
she could,” while so many in like circum- 
stances would have said, “Well, it is not my 
fault that I lost my fortune ; I always con- 
tributed largely while I had it, and now, of 
course, it isn’t to be expected.” No, she 
was a person who could call her humble 
home God’s vineyard, and consider it as 
good a field to carry on his work as had 
been the elegant mansion once belonging 
to her. Joy came to her with every effort 
put forth. With good reason Jack con- 
sidered her his best friend. She had not 
only secured a place for him, but, through 
much exertion, had found him good asso- 
ciates. 


LITTLE TIM. 


lOI 


“ He’s a dear boy, Kathie, and a good 
one, and he is sure to gain the esteem of 
his employer. I feel proud of him now, and 
how proud I’ll be when he arises to a posi- 
tion of high respectability !” 

“You look a good way ahead. Aunt Han- 
nah ; Jack is only a boy.” 

“ But the boy is father to the man. That 
sounds rather strange, but ’tis true, never- 
theless. Jack v/ill make a noble man if he 
can be kept from evil companions.” 

In various ways Miss Bloom showed her 
interest in the orphan family. She visited 
the children at their room, and sometimes, 
whenever it was possible, invited them to her 
own home. She lent Jack books and papers 
and instructed Dora in housework. As to 
Gertie, Miss Bloom frequently sent for her in 
the early morning, and did not return her to 
her home until evening. These days were 
to the blind girl the never-to-be-forgotten 
ones — days when sunshine seemed in some 
mysterious way to flood her soul, and ten- 
derness so to encompass her that it did not 
seem the worst misfortune in the world to 
be blind. 


102 THE SLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

Dora was learning to sew. Under Miss 
Bloom’s instructions she was fast becoming 
a real help when they were pressed with 
much work. She felt very happy one day 
when her kind instructor put into her hand 
some money, telling her that she had earned 
it by her neat sewing. Miss Bloom had 
told the children to call her “auntie,” so 
Dora now addressed her thus : 

“Auntie, did I really earn this money?” 

“Yes, dear, you certainly did.” 

“And I can do what I like with it?” 

“Yes; it is yours to do what you choose 
with, but I trust my dear little girl under- 
stands that money is scarce in this neigh- 
borhood and must be used wisely?” 

“Yes, I understand you, auntie, and I 
thank you.” And Dora danced away, a 
very happy child, even though poor. 

The next morning, on his way to the 
grocery. Jack stopped to see if Miss Bloom 
wanted anything. 

“Nothing this morning,” she answered 
pleasantly. 

“ Here is a little gift from Dora,” the boy 
said, giving her a tiny package, which she 


LITTLE TIM. 


103 


unrolled, disclosing a pretty blue satin rib- 
bon. 

“ Did the child buy this for me, Jack ?” 
she asked, with much emotion. 

“Yes, auntie; she knows you are the 
best friend we have in the world, and she 
thought you would like this for your neck, 
for she heard you admire it as it hung in 
the shop-window.” 

“ Dora is a dear child ; give her my love, 
Jack, and tell her I am greatly obliged.” 

“Auntie, I wish I had been as thoughtful as 
Dora, and had bought you a present with 
my first money.” 

“ My dear Jack,” Miss Bloom said, taking 
the boy’s hand, “ I am glad that you did 
nothing of the kind. Be just before you 
are generous. Your money had to pay for 
the rent ; it would have been wrong to give 
it to any one as long as it was another’s 
just due.” 

When Jack reached the grocery he found 
his employer looking exceedingly doleful. 
His eyes were red and heavy, his hair was 
uncombed and his clothes were unbrushed 
and dusty. 


104 the slakes and the blooms. 

“Jack,” he said, soberly, “can you navi- 
gate the ship alone ?” 

“Sir? What?” asked Jack. 

“The smallest boy of my raft is very 
sick ; I’ve carried him all night in my arms, 
an’ I left him howlin’ like a reg’lar nor’-easter 
’cause I had to come away. Can I go back 
to that leetle sick boy. Jack ? Can you 
steer this craft without Dan’el Cutler?” 

“Yes, sir; go right back to the poor lit- 
tle fellow. I’ll do the best I can, sir, to run 
the store all right until you are able to come 
again. I think I know all the prices, and I 
can weigh things without any mistakes.” 

Daniel Cutler went home much relieved. 
The tiny boy of two years greeted his 
father with smiles ; he was too exhausted 
to “ howl like a nor’-easter ” now. All 
through the day he was cared for by his 
father devotedly, his mother being too 
nervous and worn-out to be of much ser- 
vice ; but just at twilight, as the tired child 
fell asleep, the tireless watcher hurried off 
to the grocery. 

“ How is the baby ?” Jack inquired as Mr. 
Cutler entered the store. 


LITTLE TIM. 


105 


“ ’Hardly know whether the little chap be 
better or worse, but he’s quiet-like,” came 
the answer wearily. “ How’s bisness. Jack ?” 

“ Good, sir — first-rate. I’ve waited on a 
good many customers. Look at the money 
in the drawer, Mr. Cutler, and here’s the 
account of things sold.” 

' Mr. Cutler counted the money and 
looked over the account: “Hurrah for 
you ! You’ve done nobly. I don’t know 
as I ever took in so much in one day. 
But what’s this ? — Crackers and cheese, 
fifteen cents, charged to you.” 

“You see, sir, you forgot to tell me what 
to do about lunch, and as I didn’t want to 
lock up the grocery, I ate some crackers 
and cheese, and I had to charge them, 
because I didn’t have any money.” 

“Jack, my boy, blot out that charge. 
Sure you be welcome to all the crackers 
and cheese you can eat while I’m a-watchin’ 
my small sick boy. And, Jack, afore we 
lock up fill that little basket hangin’ there 
over the desk with oranges and lemons, 
an’ when you go take ’em ’long for the little 
blind sister an’ the rest of you.” 


I06 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

“ Oh, thank you, sir ! Gertie will be so 
glad! You’re so kind to us!” 

“Not over an’ above kind,” Mr. Cutler 
said, his eyes looking moist ; “ for that mat- 
ter, a father of a raft of boys ought to be 
kind to such as be left without a father. 
What would my little Tim have done to-day 
without me, d’ye s’pose ?” 

“ He would have missed you very much.” 

“ ’Course he would, an’ that makes me 
think. Jack, that none of us can get along 
in this world without our Father. Is he 
helpin’ you, Jack?” 

“Yes, sir, indeed he is. We couldn’t get 
along at all without his help,” Jack answered 
seriously. 

“If you get here first in the morning. 
Jack, go right on with your work as you 
think best; I may not get here until late.” 

It was late when Mr. Cutler' arrived at 
the grocery ; it was in the hush of even- 
tide. Then he said brokenly, “ The Father 
wanted our little Tim, Jack, so he took him. 
I feel sort of broken up, like, as if my heart 
was Weedin’, but it’s all right, all right! 
He’s our Father, you know.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

DR. GATS OPINION 

ISS BLAKE had been in her brother’s 



LVX house two weeks. One afternoon, 
while Mrs. Blake was taking her long after- 
noon nap, with Jamie within call reading a 
big story-book presented by Aunt Mary, 
Miss Blake brought out her silk patchwork 
to show the girls a new embroidery-stitch 
they were anxious to learn. 

“Do you do much fancy-work, auntie?” 
asked Ethel. 

“ No, dear, very little ; I have not the 
time for it. I do considerable patchwork, 
though ; it’s so easy to pick up when one 
has a few moments to spare, and can be as 
easily laid down when duties call.” 

“I am making an elegant banner; that 
is, it will be elegant if it should ever find 
itself finished,” Ethel said, going to a drawer 


I08 THE BLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

and taking out a piece of costly plush, on 
which she had embroidered some pansies 
and carnations. 

“It will be elegant, surely,” Miss Blake 
said admiringly, “ but what will you do with 
it when it is finished?” 

“ Hang it up, I suppose,” Ethel answered 
dryly. 

“ But will it correspond with the room ?” 

“ I hardly believe it will,” laughed Ethel, 
“ but it wall correspond with Lucy’s scarf- 
spread; that is an elaborate affair. — Show 
it, Lucy.” 

“ Not just now,” answered Lucy ; “ I 
hardly believe Aunt Mary cares for fancy- 
work — do you ?” 

“Fancy-work, as you call it, is all right if 
you have time for it and keep it within 
bounds,” Miss Blake said ; “ but one ought 
to be very careful not to allow it to absorb 
time that ought to be devoted to other 
things. There is much energy wasted in 
this way that, used in some other direction, 
might be of real service to humanity. A 
superfluity of it tends to indecision of char- 
acter and purpose, and thus proves the 


DR. GAY’S OPINION. ' IO9 

bane of many a woman’s existence. I have 
known some women who devote their lives 
to the accumulation of trifles in fancy-work; 
spending their entire time and strength on 
such things, they seem to forget the loom 
of life.” 

“‘The loom of life’?” questioned Ethel. 
“Yes, the loom of life. There’s a beau- 
tiful poem written on that subject: 


‘ All day, all night, I can hear the jar 
Of the loom of life, and near and far 
It thrills with its deep and muffled sound 
As the tireless wheels go always round. 

Busily, ceaselessly goes the loom. 

In the light of day and the midnight’s gloom : 

The wheels are turning early and late. 

And the woof is wound in the warp of fate. 

Click, clack ! there’s a thread of love wove in ; 

Click, clack ! another of wrong and sin ; 

What a checkered thing will this life be 
When we see it unrolled in eternity !’ ” 

“Those are beautiful lines, and make one 
feel like doing something real grand,” said 
Ethel; “but folks would think we were not 
genteel if we didn’t do fancy-work.” 

Miss Blake could not repress a smile as 
she wondered if people who had ever seen 
their parlor considered it genteel. 


no THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

“It is much more desirable for people to 
see that we are clean and orderly than to 
have them think we possess false gentility ; 
for surely there is no real gentility in en- 
deavoring to keep up appearances at the 
expense of neglect of our duties. No 
hands ought to be working at banners and 
scarf-stands if the beds up stairs lacked 
sheets and pillow-cases and the table-linen 
was in the condition of the husband of the 
maiden all forlorn. It is always best to go 
courageously onward, doing the best we 
can in the path to which God has called us, 
not struggling for the world’s opinion, which 
would only strengthen in us the mean am- 
bition of vulgar show. To lay the founda- 
tions of a strong character one needs to 
make the most of the golden days of youth, 
but how often it slips by before one fully 
realizes that it is not, never has been, never 
will be, a well-spring to last for ever !” 

“Fm sure I wish it was. Oh, auntie, I 
can’t endure the thought of growing old,” 
Ethel said, looking very solemn. 

“ Don’t think about it, then. One who 
puts one’s mind fully upon the superstruc- 


DR. GAY^S OPINION. 


Ill 


ture one is building will think very little, if 
at all, upon the coming loss of the lustre 
of one’s hair or the sparkle of one’s eyes. 
The lasting beauty such a one is gaining 
will more than compensate for the fading 
of mere physical beauty.” 

“ I wish I could feel so, but I don’t think 
I ever shall,” Ethel replied, looking at her 
aunt’s bright, sweet face with admiration. 

“You are young; you will feel differently 
as the years roll on if you are patient and 
thoughtful and prayerful.” 

“Well, I’m not patient. I’m not thought- 
ful and I’m not prayerful,” Ethel said, de- 
spondently. 

“ And you are not doing that stitch right,” 
put in Lucy, impatiently. “Now, rip it out 
carefully or you will spoil that block of 
mine.” 

“You see, auntie, there are others im- 
patient too,” laughed Ethel. 

“So I see. Well, pick out your stitches 
and begin over. If we could pick out all 
the mistaken stitches we make in our life- 
work, and begin all over again, we doubt- 
less would rejoice ; but it cannot be done.” 


1 12 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

“ But we have so many trials of all sorts 
that we can’t help fretting.” 

“If we really believe that our heavenly 
Father orders our lives, we ought to be 
patient under all forms of trial, and in some 
way or another they constantly attack us. 
Impatience mars the beauty of many lives. 
Instead of peace, it brings forth turbulence, 
and the souls of those indulging it are ever 
tempest-tossed. Patience develops strength 
and courage, and in all life’s battles we come 
forth victors. I don’t know whose beauti- 
ful words these are, but I have read them 
somewhere : ‘The best things are nearest, — 
light in your eyes, flowers at your feet, 
duties at your hand, the path of God just 
before you. Then do not grasp at the 
stars, but do life’s plain, common work as 
it comes, certain that daily duties and daily 
bread are the sweetest things of life.’ ” 

“ But it is so forlorn here, auntie, when 
you are not here, with mamma sick and 
father away — as father is so often — and the 
boys rioting.” 

“And it has never seemed a real home,” 
Lucy added. 


DR. GAY'S OPINION. 


II3 

“There are homes that are not homes, 
only shelters ; let us make this a true home, 
and to do it we must banish for ever neg- 
lect. It is not pleasant to stumble over 
boots and shoes lying about, or to take up 
a book only to knock over an uncorked 
ink-bottle, thus making a hideous spot. 
There must be heart and mind back of 
what one calls ‘womanly touches;’ that is 
why those touches give character to a room 
and to a house. Go into any woman’s 
home, and if she is a positive character you 
can read her individuality in the arrange- 
ment of her articles, be they few or many.” 

“You must have read our characters 
pretty quickly when Jamie led you into 
our parlor,” Lucy said, with a blush of 
shame; “but it takes a great amount of 
labor to keep things straight and clean and 
orderly.” 

“ There is no better rule for good house- 
keeping than to have a place for everything 
and everything in its place. One who ad- 
heres to this rule can perform life’s daily 
duties with very little trouble and without 
constant friction.” 


1 14 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

“ But everything in our house seems so 
battered and rusty that even if things were 
straight and orderly I don’t believe it would 
look very inviting,” Lucy said. 

“Well, then, if it should look a in- 
viting we would consider it an improve- 
ment, would we not?” asked Miss Blake, 
smiling. 

“Yes, I think we would.” 

“This house can be made a beautiful and 
attractive home if you care to go to the 
necessary trouble to make it so.” 

“It could if father had money to refurnish 
it, and would give it to us for that purpose.” 

“ But I was not thinking of money. I 
have seen some very pretty homes whose 
owners had very little of that useful com- 
modity called money : with tact and patient 
labor one can make a pretty home, not 
exactly out of nothing, but out of very lit- 
tle. I will venture to say that there are 
enough things hidden away in obscure 
corners or thrown around loose, it may 
be, to revolutionize this house. What do 
you say to a thorough exploration from 
the attic to the cellar?” 


DR. GAY^S OPINION. 


IIS 

Entering into the spirit of the question, 
the girls arose simultaneously to their feet, 
Ethel saying, “ Come,” and Lucy asserting, 
“ I know there’s trash enough, if one can 
utilize that.” 

Reaching the attic first, Ethel prounced 
upon an old rusty urn that had done duty 
once on the top of a stove. 

“There, Aunt Mary, is our first trophy. 
Can you see any beauty in that ?” she asked 
mischievously. 

“ I don’t see it except with my mind’s eye, 
but it’s there and must be drawn out. The 
sculptor has to draw out the beauty from a 
block of marble before we can see it, and 
what we are to do is to pattern after him. 
That urn, when rubbed up and painted a 
rich brown with Persian border, will be a 
pretty receptacle for cut flowers and vines ; 
it will be just the thing for the fireplace in 
the dining-room.” 

“ Here’s an old couch,” called Lucy from 
a distant corner ; “ the springs are good, 
but it’s in a deplorable condition as to its 
wearing apparel, and no wonder ; in its day 
it has done good service. Papa seemed to 


Il6 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

love that couch, and he was vexed when he 
came home and found we had removed it 
to the attic/’ 

“ Then let us take it down and recover 
it. We can make a pretty cover of dark- 
figured cretonne, that can be washed when 
soiled, for it can be made to slip on and off 
easily.” 

“ How nice that will be ! How glad papa 
will be to see it in its old place in the din- 
ing-room ! Is this arm-chair good for any- 
thing, auntie?” 

“ It needs upholstering, that is all. What 
a roomy, pleasant chair it must have been 
in its palmy days !” Miss Blake said, seat- 
ing herself in it. “ Do you suppose your 
mother would have it upholstered?” 

“Yes, I’m quite sure she would, for it 
was she who bought it for papa years ago, 
and it was his favorite chair.” 

Next there came to light two old-fash- 
ioned washstands — one square with two 
shelves, the other three-cornered with two 
shelves, the upper shelf of each one having 
a hole designed for a wash-bowl. 

“We can make some beautiful articles 


DR. GAV^S OPINION. 11 / 

out of those old stands,” Miss Blake said, 
delightedly. “We’ll get Rick to buy us 
some material for staining and some var- 
nish, and then for work !” 

In a corner of the attic was a box of old 
straw hats, worn long ago by Mrs. Blake 
and her daughters. 

“ Some of them will make scrap-bags for 
the bedrooms ; we shall need some ribbon 
and some old silk to make them pretty,” 
Miss Blake informed the girls, at which they 
both laughed, and Ethel said, 

“Auntie, I believe you could draw beauty 
out of a mud-puddle.” 

“Well, if there was any beauty there I 
should certainly try to draw it out ; and doubt- 
less there is some beauty even in a mud- 
puddle when there are tadpoles in it; a frog, 
even in its first estate, is not to be despised.” 

The next morning, as Ethel came down 
from her mother’s room heavily laden with 
things necessary for her mother’s comfort 
through the night, she complained of a pain 
in her side. 

“ It would be much easier for you to have 
your mother down stairs; then the strength 


Il8 THE BLARES AND THE BLOOMS. 

used in running up and down stairs might 
do good service in some other way. Do you 
not think she would enjoy the change ?” 

“ Perhaps she would. Fm sure the idea 
of removing mamma from that forlorn room 
has never entered my head,” answered Lucy, 
thoughtfully. 

“ When will the doctor come again ?” 

“ He only comes twice a month unless 
sent for particularly. It is about time for 
his usual call.” 

“I hope he will come to-day. When I 
see him I will get his opinion in regard 
to bringing your mother down stairs.” 

In answer to Miss Blake’s wish. Dr. Gay 
drove up about noon, looked at his patient, 
talked a few moments to her, felt her pulse, 
left his directions, teased the girls, and was 
just going out of the front door when Miss 
Blake emerged from the dining-room and 
confronted him. 

“Why, Miss Mary, I do declare this is a 
real pleasure !” he said heartily, shaking her 
extended hand. “ I am greatly rejoiced to 
meet you again.” 

“Thank you, and I can assure you it is 


DR. GAY^S OPINION. 1 19 

an equal pleasure to see you after all these 
long years of separation,” came the warm 
response. 

“ I wish I had time to sit down for a good 
old-fashioned talk ; it would do me a world 
of good, and possibly might edify you,” 
with a roguish look ; but a gentleman, 
a Mr. Lawrence, three doors above here, 
is quite sick, and is waiting impatiently for 
me to come and dose him with some of 
my bitterness ;” and the doctor laughed 
in his jolly, infectious way, that frequently 
called forth the remark that “ Dr. Gay’s 
happy nature does as much good as his 
drugs.” 

‘‘Just answer one question, please, before 
you go,” Miss Blake said. “We have been 
talking about fitting up the room opening 
into the parlor for Mrs. Blake, Do you 
think the removal would injure her?” 

“Injure her? No, a thousand times no! 
It may prove her salvation. Do it, by all 
means, and God bless you for the propo- 
sition I” he responded, heartily. “ It is my 
honest opinion that if Mrs. Blake could 
be induced to come out of that detestable 


120 THE SLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

room, heavy with odors of camphor, ether 
and all sorts of smells, there might be some 
hope of her becoming the woman Fve no 
doubt God intended she should be.” 

Miss Blake said nothing, only looked 
questioningly at Dr. Gay. 

“Strong language, isn’t it? And reflect- 
ing upon your respected sister-in-law a trifle, 
I will admit ; but. Miss Blake, you and I 
used to be on confidential terms, and, 
between you and me, as the children say, 
what Mrs. Blake needs is rousing. The 
world is dead to her, although there is no 
reason why it should be. To be sure, she 
is a real invalid, and I’m sorry for her, but 
she has lost a large amount of strength 
that might have been hers to-day had she 
so willed, I honestly assert that if that 
woman could be stirred from centre to cir- 
cumference she would find a mission await- 
ing her. This is a busy world. Miss Mary ; 
there should not be any dead ones blocking 
the way. And now, my dear old friend, if 
you have found a stumbling-block, you will 
be just the one to discover whether it is 
utterly lifeless and worthless or only a slum- 


DR. GAY'S OPINION. 


I2I 


bering chrysalis. Who knows but it may 
be the latter ? and one day — perhaps not far 
distant — you may see the flutter of shining 
wings. Good-morning, Miss Blake.’' 


CHAPTER X. 


A GOOD SUGGESTION. 


“ OMETIMES people are deceived while 



watching a chrysalis ; sometimes the 
life dies out of it while one is waiting in the 
hush of expectancy for the unfolding of 
beautiful wings,” thought Miss Blake in 
the quietness of her chamber that night 
after her conversation with Dr. Gay. “ But 
I can’t believe my poor Bertha is dead ; she 
must be aroused. Poor soul ! she has had 
a weary ' time, so weak and faint-hearted, 
and no strong Arm to lean upon. With a 
husband dissipated and a family to bring 
up, wealth flown, and health along with it, 
one cannot wonder that she is crushed. If 
I can only help her arise just far enough 
to put her trembling, weary feet upon the 
Rock, I shall be satisfied, for then the Divine 
Helper will lead her safely up the starry 


road.” 


122 


A GOOD SUGGESTION. 


123 


“ How do you feel this morning ?” she 
asked of the invalid just after breakfast 
the next day. 

“Weary of life, of going to sleep and of 
awaking, of eating and sitting, and of think- 
ing.” 

“ I am sorry you are so depressed.” 

“ I’ve nothing to live for, and I’ve often 
wished I were dead,” Mrs. Blake said, with 
an expression of much dejection. 

“‘Nothing to live for’?” answered her 
sister-in-law. “ I think you are making a 
great mistake. If you could only live to 
pray for your four children, you would have 
much to live for. Do not be disheartened. 
You can even do more than that; you can 
comfort them with tender words and kindly 
thoughts. What a blessed thing it is that, 
although this world has so many invalids, 
almost helpless physically, there are so 
many bright, unclouded minds among 
them ! But, Bertha, it is enough to give a 
healthy person the blues to think of always 
remaining shut up in such a dismal, close- 
smelling room as this.” 

“ I am here, and here I must stay ; I am 


124 the blakes and the blooms. 

not strong enough to walk out of it,” the 
invalid said, dolefully. 

“Well, then we will have to carry you 
out of it some day soon, so that you may be 
able to realize that there still are such things 
in the world as fresh air and sunshine.” 

“Yes, I will be carried out before long,” 
the invalid replied, “ but it will only be to 
my long home.” 

And then she began sobbing hysterically. 
Miss Blake said nothing for a while. When 
the sobs grew fainter she spoke very 
gently : 

“ No, not to your long home. I do not 
believe your work is done here below yet. 
You will pardon me, I hope, for saying that 
I think if you would allow your mind to 
dwell less on your own aches and pains, 
and more on the wants of your family, your 
health would improve.” 

“You think me selfish, do you not?” 
asked the invalid with tremulous voice. 

“We are all selfish, more or less,” re- 
plied her sister-in-law evasively. “What I 
would like to have you do is to look over 
your book of mercies.” 


A GOOD SUGGESTION. 


125 


“ The book given to me has held more 
trials than mercies.” 

“And yet how many would envy you 
your bright children, your pleasant grounds, 
your fruit, your shade trees ! Oh, I wish 
you would allow us to take you out of this 
dark room into the light — will you ?” 

“ I will think about it.” 

“Auntie,” called a voice from down 
stairs. 

“Yes, I’m coming,” was the cheery an- 
swer. 

“ We haven’t swept the house for weeks,” 
said Lucy. “ Where shall we begin ?” 

“ Do you never engage a woman by the 
day?” asked Miss Blake. 

“ Sometimes, but not often,” Lucy an- 
swered. “You see, putting the washing 
and ironing out costs so much that we don’t 
like to ask father to hire a woman besides.” 

“ But he is willing,” said Ethel. “ He 
wanted to hire a woman last spring for a 
week right through, so as to have a regu- 
lar house-cleaning, for he said the house 
looked ‘like Bedlam let loose;’ but we 
dreaded the bother, with mamma sick and 


126 THE BLARES AND THE BLOOMS. 

the cooking and everything to do, so we 
didn’t have her.” 

“And you did not clean house?” Miss 
Blake spoke with a queer smile, raising her 
eyebrows expressively, 

“ No, ma’am, we did not ; it looks like it, 
does it not ?” 

“I will admit that it does,” Miss Blake 
said honestly, yet very kindly ; “ but you 
certainly are young to take the responsi- 
bility of a thorough house-cleaning upon 
your shoulders. However, I question if it 
ever pays to neglect the ordeal. How 
would you like to have a general cleaning 
now while I am here? I can assist, and 
then it will prove a pleasant surprise to 
your father upon his return.” 

“But it’s so hot now to do such work!” 
protested Ethel ; “and, besides, it would be 
worse than anything you have done for us 
heathen yet, to help clean this dirty house.” 

Ignoring the latter part of Ethel’s re- 
mark, Miss Blake said, “ So it is, very warm, 
but we can hire the heavier parts of the 
work done, and although, doubtless, it will 
be tiresome to fight dirt and disorder at 


A GOOD SUGGESTION. 


127 


this time of the year, we will feel cool and 
calm when we come forth victors.” 

“ It would be nice — oh, how nice ! — to be 
clean again ; it would seem like getting into 
another world,” Ethel responded. 

“ And you will be in another world — a 
world of purity and order; and once there 
it will be much easier for you to climb up,” 
Miss Blake said, seriously. 

“ Climb up ? Up where ?” 

“ Up the ladder that reaches from earth 
to heaven. Cleanliness is next to godliness, 
you know.” 

“I don’t believe I have found even the 
first round of that desirable ladder, auntie, 
but I begin to hope that I may. Surely, if 
a clean house would have a tendency to 
show me such a helpful ladder, I vote for 
the clean house. But really, auntie,” with 
a deprecatory look, as if helpless without 
her aunt’s wise advice, “I shouldn’t know 
where to begin to purify in this neglected 
abode.” 

“I have always considered it most con- 
venient to begin at the top of a house and 
clean downward, but in this case I think, on 


128 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

account of your mother’s sickness, it would 
be best to clean the room off the parlor 
and the closet adjoining first, and then re- 
move her there, so that she would not be 
so lonely while we were all busy, and would 
be within easy reach of the one left in 
charge of the ordinary housework. Then, 
after we have once begun in the attic, there 
will be no obstacle in the way, that we now 
know of, and we can make steady progress 
until we touch bottom.” 

“Truly, I begin to feel inspired,” Lucy 
said. “ I wish we could begin right away. 
But I don’t feel reconciled to having you 
work like a servant, auntie. We’re not 
worth the sacrifice ; and then, besides, you 
are a visitor and ought to be entertained.” 

Miss Blake laughed, as she said, “ One 
of the things that I am devoutly thankful 
for is, that I am, in all places and under all 
circumstances, able to entertain myself. So 
you need not worry an iota over that ; and, 
furthermore, I did not come here as a visit- 
or, but rather as a helper. As you feel dis- 
posed to begin the process of rejuvenation 
immediately, I think we must engage a good 


A GOOD SUGGDS7V0N, 


129 


Strong woman as the first step. I will run 
up and see what your mother thinks about 
it/’ 

Returning in ten minutes, Miss Blake 
said, “ She is perfectly willing as long as 
we do not trouble her, and we are to go 
right on and do as we please, without con- 
sulting her. Now, where shall we find such 
a woman as we want to help us ?” 

‘‘I know,” answered Rick, who had en- 
tered the room in time to hear his sisters 
discuss the necessity of securing a “good, 
strong woman.” “There’s Dolly Varden ; 
she is good and strong, and jolly too. Shall 
I go after her ?” 

Rick looked at his aunt for an answer, so 
she replied, smilingly, “Just as your sisters 
say. Who is this Dolly Varden ?” 

“ There was an old niggah, 

And his name was Uncle Ned, 

And he died long ago, long ago,” 


sang Rick, “ and Dolly is his daughter. My ! 
but she can work, though !” 

“Yes, she can work if she feels inclined, 
but one has to hurry her sometimes. She 
9 


130 THE SLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

used to wash for us. I believe Dolly would 
be as good as any one we could find,” Ethel 
said decidedly. 

“And better,” Rick put in. “ Shall I go 
for her, Ethel ?” 

“Yes, do, and tell her we'll want her 
every day for a week, and perhaps a day 
or two longer.” 

“Hurrah for Dolly Varden!” shouted 
Rick, running out of the house, with 
Jamie at his heels. 

It did not take him long to reach the 
cabin of Dolly Varden and to deliver his 
message. Miss Dolly was feeding her pig, 
but she dropped her basin of refuse to 
answer joyfully, “Yes, honey, shure, and 
ril be glad to come.; but Til have to bring 
'long dat 'tarnal Abe Linkun. Does you 
tink yo’ folks kin stan' him ?” 

“ Of course we can,” Rick answered, 
laughing, pulling Abraham Lincoln Var- 
den’s wool just a leetle; “we’ll be most 
happy to see his honor.” 

“ But, Mas’ Rick, he dun got no honor ; 
he’s de most outlandish, onreliable, misbe- 
havin’ child I ever see. He’ll be a-playin’ 


A GOOD SUGGESTION. I3I 

his tricks on some o’ you ’fore he’s bin thar 
an hour.” 

“ Then I’ll duck him in the pond,” threat- 
ened Rick, looking savagely at the cute 
little dark, who was grinning at him as if 
not in the least fearful of coming to grief 
at his hands. 

Rick spent the greater part of the rest 
of the day taking up tacks. Jamie helped 
too. 

“Are you going to clean our room, 
auntie ?” Rick asked. 

“ Of course ; you will find it before long 
as clean and sweet as a fresh-blown rose.” 

“I feel like singing the ‘Year of Jubilee 
am a-comin’.’ Perhaps it is, who knows ?” 

“We will have a jubilee, anyway, after 
our work is all done and all things are 
shining in cleanliness.” 

“What do you mean, auntie? A party?” 

“ I don’t know that it will be a party ; it 
will be a time of rejoicing. We will look 
forward to a real jolly time.” 

“And can Tom Lawrence come, and Nick 
Chester?” 

“No, of course they can’t,” Lucy an- 


132 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

swered. “You know mamma never allows 
any boys in the house that don’t belong 
here.” 

Lucy’s reply was quite a damper on 
Rick’s rising spirits ; he looked corre- 
spondingly doleful. 

“ Don’t worry over it, Rick my boy,” said 
his aunt, smiling encouragingly ; “ mothers 
have been known to change their minds 
occasionally, and perhaps before we get the 
house all cleaned your mother may change 
hers, and if so we will welcome the boys.” 

Then turning to the girls: “Now, this 
afternoon, while your mother is sleeping, 
we will attack those old table-cloths, for we 
shall want them to-morrow for windows and 
other things. Bring them in, Lucy, please.” 

The table-cloths were brought, a sorry 
array, one of them being fit for nothing 
but the mop-handle, into which Miss Blake 
fastened it securely. Out of the remaining 
three she cut a dozen good tea-towels and 
a number of dish-cloths, and other cloths 
for washing and wiping paint on the mor- 
row. Lucy and Ethel went delightedly at 
work at the tea-towels, while their aunt 


A GOOD SUGGESTION. 


133 


worked diligently making dish-cloths ; and 
so, before it was time to prepare tea, Ethel 
exclaimed joyfully, “ I feel almost as if we 
had won a battle. How good it seems to 
have all these nice linen wiping towels and 
dish-cloths !” 

“ Indeed it is good,” Miss Blake respond- 
ed, thoughtfully. “And we have won a 
battle by conquering these ragged old table- 
cloths and bringing out of them articles 
that will give to us comfort and beauty.” 

After supper Miss Blake was taken pos- 
session of by the boys, who led her to the 
barn to see and admire their new brood 
of chickens. Later she visited the invalid, 
cheering her with her pleasant talk, and 
reciting to her, before saying good-night, 
some verses which echoed in her heart for 
many days afterward ; they were these : 


“ The clouds hang heavy round my way, 
I cannot see ; 

But through the darkness I believe 
God leadeth me. 

’Tis sweet to keep my hand in his 
While all is dim, 

To close my weary, aching eyes, 

And follow him. 


134 the b lakes and the blooms. 

Through many a thorny path he leads 
My tired feet; 

Through many a path of tears I go ; 

But it is sweet 

To know that he is close to me, 

My God, my guide: 

He leadeth me, and so I walk 
Quite satisfied. 

To my blind eyes he may reveal 
No light at all ; 

But while I lean on his strong arm, 

I cannot fall.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT. 

M orning dawned dear, but very 
warm, and with it came Dolly Var- 
den and Abraham Lincoln Varden, her only 
child, of whom she was very fond, notwith- 
standing her contradictory way of showing 
it. Dolly was poor — the Blakes knew that 
— so that, although she said they had eaten 
their breakfast at home, she was quite will- 
ing, at Lucy’s suggestion, to sit down with 
her boy and partake of the remains of the 
good breakfast that Miss Blake had cooked 
“ Dat am a breakfus’ wuth havin’, honey,” 
she said after finishing her repast ; “ I feel 
as if I had some stren’th in my body now. 
What shall I do fust?” 

“ Go to the south room, Dolly ; you 
know, just off the parlor. You’ll find the 
dearest lady in the whole world there. 

135 


136 THE SLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

She’s Miss Blake, Dolly, our aunt ; she’s 
the captain to direct in our battle with dirt, 
and she’ll tell you just what to do.” 

Returning in a few moments for a broom, 
Dolly said, “ Laws, honey I I like dat cap- 
tain, wid dat blessed smile ob hers, dat 
makes one tink of angels. — Now, you Abe 
Linkun, you wait on Miss Ethel, peel taters 
an’ sweep de kitchen, an’ behave like a 
’spectable boy oughter.” With which part- 
ing admonition Dolly’s gayly-turbaned head 
disappeared. 

“ Now, this room we are going to trans- 
form into a bower of beauty for the inva- 
lid,” the captain said to Dolly. 

“ How is we goin’ to do it ?” questioned 
Dolly, in amazement. 

“ The first thing you will have to do is to 
lift the carpet and carry it out of doors ; 
Rick will help you. The boys, you see, 
have taken out all the tacks.” 

Five minutes later the dusty carpet, that 
had not been shaken for two years nor 
swept for months, was hanging on a line 
down near the barn, and Dolly was mop- 
ping the floor of the south room. 


FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT. 1 3 / 

“ ’Bout as dirty a floor as I ever seed,” 
she commented, wiping the perspiration 
from her dusky face, “ but it’ll shine afore I 
give it up; I can tell you dat.” 

“You are a good worker, I can see,” 
praised Miss Blake, seeing Dolly dig out 
the corners with a pointed stick and wash 
and wipe them very carefully ; “ but do not 
spend too much strength on the first clean- 
ing, as after the wall has been wiped down 
it will be necessary to clean it again.” 

An hour later the wall had been thorough 
ly wiped down, the floor was spotless, and 
Dolly was exerting her strength to “ make 
dem nasty, fly-specked, cobwebby windows 
shine like Abe Linkun’s heel.” 

Miss Blake and Lucy were cleaning paint, 
the former not only doing her own part, 
but also directing the latter. 

Before noon Dolly said triumphantly, 
“Now de sun can see into dem winders, 
an’ if you’re willin’ I’ll run an’ help dem 
blessed boys a-beating dat big dirty carpet. 
It is goin’ to take more’n dey’s young arms 
to root out all de dust a-clingin’ to it.” 

Consent being gladly given to Dolly to 


138 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

assist “dem blessed boys,” her vigorous 
blows soon produced an astonishing effect. 
The dust flew out in clouds, but the strong 
beater never gave out until the carpet lay 
clean and smooth upon the grass ; then she 
sat down beside it, laughing and breathing 
heavily as she said, addressing the carpet, 
“ Now, you ole varmint, you’s conquered, but 
you ain’t dead.” Then seeing her boy 
standing on the kitchen steps, she called, 
“ Now, you Abe Linkun, hurry up wid dat 
broom. I’ll gib dis carpet a good sweepin’ 
an’ turnin’, an’ den fer de tackin’ down. — 
Who’s goin’ to help tack down dat ar car- 
pet ?” 

“ I’ll help you,” shouted Rick from a big 
tree into which he had just climbed. “ Two 
such smart folks as you an’ me will put that 
carpet where it belongs in a jif. Won’t it 
be nice to have a spick-span clean room in 
our dirty house? I say, Dolly, it takes you 
to root out the dirt of years and the grime 
of centuries and the accumulations since 
the time of the Flood.” 

“ Stop dat nonsense,” said Dolly with a 
rollicking laugh. ‘T tell you, Mas’ Rick, 


F/iOM DARKNESS TO LIGHT. 1 39 

dere’s enough dirt to root out ob dis house, 
but it’s goin’ to be rooted out, from de 
crown ob its head to de sole of its feet. 
Before de week’s out you’ll tink you’se bin 
born agin, tings’ll look so different.” 

“I say. Doily, what do think of Aunt 
Mary ?” 

I tink a heap ob her, honey. She’s one 
ob dem kind dat is born into de world to 
lift folks up, an’ she’s a-doin’ it.” 

After the carpet was neatly laid. Miss 
Blake, saying that it was too late to think 
of disturbing the invalid’s room, went with 
Rick and Dolly to the attic. 

“You can carry all these things on this 
side down the back stairs to the woodshed ; 
we’ll need them to assist in furnishing our 
clean rooms. Then, after they are out of 
the way, Dolly, you can sweep the attic 
thoroughly overhead and under foot, and 
if you have time afterward you can begin 
cleaning the windows. — Rick dear, after 
you have helped remove all these things we 
will be glad of your aid down stairs.” 

Ethel and Jamie answered their mother’s 
bell alternately through the day. They also 


140 THE BLARES AND THE BLOOMS. 

found time to render considerable aid to 
the house-cleaners. As for Miss Blake and 
Lucy, they devoted all their energies that 
afternoon to fitting up the windows of the 
freshened south room and that of the big 
closet opening into it. Ransacking one of 
the old chests brought dowm from the attic 
with great difficulty by Dick and Dolly 
Varden, Miss Blake and Lucy found two 
old-fashioned full-skirted grenadines, one of 
them apple-green in color, sprinkled over 
with apple-blossoms, daisies and clover ; 
the other a plain rose-color. They also 
took from the same receptacle two old full- 
skirted white dresses of some lace-like ma- 
terial, cream-colored from long lying. Ob- 
taining her mother’s permission to do what 
she liked with the contents of the chests 
and boxes, Lucy inquired of her aunt what 
they were good for. “ Mamma says they’re 
nothing but old stuff, not worth seeing the 
light ; but they are pretty, ain’t they, these 
old grenadines ?” 

“ Of course they are pretty,” Miss Blake 
answered delightedly. “They will make 
charming curtains, and there is plenty of 


F/^OM DA FITNESS TO LIGHT. I4I 

material for the three windows — the two in 
the south room and the one in the big 
closet. Before night, Providence permit- 
ting, we will have those windows draped.” 

As soon as the dinner-dishes were out 
of the way Ethel came to their assistance. 
Rick helped too by bringing a step-ladder, 
so as to reach the cornice and measure the 
distance to the floor. “ Many hands make 
light work,” you know, and, so you will not 
wonder that before that long summer day 
closed those windows had been transformed 
into “ things of beauty.” The long creamy- 
white curtains were looped back with rose- 
colored ribbons, and over them, draped 
gracefully, were lambrequins, each one hav- 
ing been made out of the quaint old grena- 
dines. 

“They are really beautiful,” said Ethel, 
dancing about the room. “ I wonder what 
you are going to do next, auntie?” 

“I wish we had a portiere curtain to 
match the window-drapery, to hang between 
the closet and the room ; it would be so 
pretty and convenient for your mother.” 

“ Let’s ransack another old chest,” said 


142 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

Lucy. “I begin to have a great deal of 
faith in the contents of those bins and 
boxes that we thought only held trash.” 

Two more chests were searched, reveal- 
ing many old articles of wearing apparel 
that Miss Blake said could be utilized in 
various w’^ays, but no more pretty vdiite or 
grenadine dresses were found. However, 
in the bottom of one of them there was an 
old-style bedspread, rose-colored and white, 
a pretty thing, with little tufts here and 
there, and a cobwebby pattern running all 
over it. 

“We couldn’t ask for a prettier portiere 
than this will make,” Miss Blake asserted, 
“We’ll have to invest in pole and rings, 
though.” 

“ I know where I can get a pole and some 
nice brass rings real cheap. I went with 
Tom Lawrence last week when he went 
after such things for Ran.” 

“Then you are just the one to go; we 
will trust you with the order, Rick. And 
if we can have them to-morrow forenoon 
we shall be very glad.” 

Before breakfast the next morninor Rick 

O 


FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT, 1 43 

went to the city after the pole and rings for 
the portiere, and the first thing Miss Blake 
did upon rising from the breakfast-table was 
to hang the curtain in front of the closet 
with Rick’s help. 

The invalid was awake quite early too, 
and had finished her breakfast before the 
arrival of Dolly. Of course she knew that 
a revolution was taking place in the house, 
and had consented, after much urging, to 
leave her close upper room for a visit down 
stairs, her sister-in-law promising her, “ It 
need only be a visit if it should prove dis- 
tasteful to you ; but I sincerely hope the 
life and the stir of the house will cheer and 
satisfy you.” 

Even in all the hurry and bustle morn- 
ing prayers were not forgotten, and were 
held, as usual, in the invalid’s room, Dolly 
and Ab’ram Lincoln kneeling on the thresh- 
old. 

Dolly was commissioned to wash the 
breakfast-dishes. While she was perform- 
ing that task Miss Blake and Lucy were 
dressing and otherwise arranging the in- 
valid for the day. Ethel, Rick and Jamie 


144 the b lakes and the blooms, 

were carrying down chairs and other articles 
of light furniture, brushing and rubbing 
them out of doors, and then transferring 
them to the new room. As soon as Dolly’s 
strong arms were ready to assist the bed 
and bedding were all removed to the back 
dooryard. 

“I’ll sweep ’em an’ scrub ’em an’ pound 
’em,” said Dolly, “an’ then we’ll leave ’em 
out here a-airin’ till evenin’. P’raps by dat 
time some ob dat horriferous scent’ll get 
out ob dem, an’ some ob de aromatic scent 
ob de new-mown hay’ll get in dem.” 

Miss Blake and Dolly carried the invalid 
down stairs, and put her in her wheeled 
chair, which had preceded her. As soon 
as she could find breath to speak she said, 
bursting into tears, 

“ Oh, I feel so strange and so happy ! 
How fresh and sweet and beautiful it is 
here ! and how kind and thoughful you all 
are ! I don’t deserve it.” 

All eyes looked a trifle dewy just then. 
Rick, to change the subject and bring 
smiles, said, “ Mamma, just look out of that 
window and see the show. That fellow. 


FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT. I45 

madam, standing on his head is Mas’ Abe 
Linkun, at your service.” 

Mrs. Blake wiped her eyes, glanced out 
of the window, close to which Rick had 
pushed her chair, saw the little darkey at 
his pranks and her own little Jamie laugh- 
ing gleefully, and she too laughed, the first 
laugh any one had heard from her for many 
a long day. 

Rick was a tender-hearted lad, and some 
tears would rush into his eyes ; but there 
was a great joy bubbling up in his heart as 
he said, “ And, don’t you see, mamma, how 
nice it will be for you to be right here 
amongst us? You see,” and he put his 
hand on the window-sill, sprang out, pluck- 
ed a rose and sprang in again, “ how easy 
it will be to bring you a flower or tell you 
a bit of cheery news. And, mamma,” look- 
ing around to see if any one was in sight, 
and finding the coast clear, “you can get 
acquainted with your boys now, if you 
want to.” 

As Rick spoke he put out his hand shyly, 
and his mother took it, a tear dropping on 
it as she answered, tremulously, 

10 


146 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS, 

“And I surely do, Rick dear. You have 
hardly known that you had a mother, but, 
God helping me, you shall know it from this 
moment henceforth until my dying day.'’ 

That was all she said, for Ethel came in 
just then, and Rick went to his aunt, who 
was calling him. 

“Jamie and I made this stool for you, 
mamma,” Ethel said, kneeling down before 
her mother to display her gift. 

Again tears filled the invalid’s eyes as 
she said to her daughter, “ Thank you, 
Ethel ; you are all so kind. What a pretty 
stool !” 

A pleased look beamed from Ethel’s 
eyes ; it was something altogether new for 
her mother to express any pleasure at any- 
thing. 

“I am glad you like it, mamma. Aunt 
Mary suggested it, because the old one was 
worn threadbare, and she told us how to 
make it. Just think, mamma, only a com- 
mon little wooden box, a small piece of 
bright carpet, some curled hair out of an 
old arm-chair, and a little labor, and, lo ! 
another article of comfort and beauty !” 


FJiOM DA FITNESS TO LIGHT. 1 47 

“ Ethel, it seems to me your aunt Mary 
could almost bring beauty out of bare 
stones. I believe she has even awaked 
a little warm, tender breeze in my cold 
heart. Ethel, do you suppose” — and the 
pale face looked up beseechingly — “ that 
there is any beauty lying dormant in my 
heart that could be brought forth if I tried 
to have it so ?” 

Ethel looked at her mother in surprise, 
but her heart was touched. She approached 
her shyly, and said tenderly, drawing the 
thin face close to her breast, “ Of course 
there is, mamma dear, and I’m quite sure 
it is beginning to peep forth now. I guess 
none of us have brought forth much beauty 
in our lives, but we ca7i do it — in His 
strength, you know ; and we are trying to, 
mamma, Lucy and I.” Then Ethel bent 
and kissed her mother, her first kiss for 
many a month. 

Mrs. Blake’s new rooms were indeed 
worthy of admiration. The large, airy 
closet was to be her sleeping-room, and 
as soon as her bed could be brought in all 
things would be convenient and orderly. 


148 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

The carpets, which were really good, as 
these rooms had been used but rarely, 
looked bright and pretty since their clean- 
sing. The sunlight peeped through the rosy 
curtains. The portiere was looped back 
with crimson cord. Upon her low table, 
draped with a new spread from her sister- 
in-law, sat a vase of fresh flowers. Through 
the window came the voices of the boys at 
play, and a bird, perched upon the window- 
sill, looked up saucily, as if to ask of the 
new-comer, “ Who are you ?” 


CHAPTER XII. 


ABE LINKUN^S PRANKS. 

S soon as Mrs. Blake’s carpet was 



LX. swaying on the line Dolly went to 
the attic to finish scouring. In the after- 
noon, with the assistance of the boys, she 
removed all of the up-stairs carpets, so as 
to have them ready for the man who had 
been engaged to come the next day for the 
purpose of giving them a thorough beating. 
All hands that could be spared from below 
worked in the chambers during the third 
and fourth days, and great was the result 
of so much earnest work. Even the vase 
of flowers that Rick had seen in his dream 
sat upon his window-sill. Meanwhile, Ab’- 
ram Linkun had nearly tumbled into the 
well, the result of his examining a square 
wooden cover to see what was under it. 
Fortunately, his jacket had caught on a 
projecting nail, and for one or two agonized 


149 


150 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

moments he hung suspended, face down- 
ward, “yelling like a catamount,” Rick said, 
laughing, as he rescued him from his peril- 
ous position and passed him over to Dolly 
Varden, who had dropped her tack-harnmer 
on the chamber floor at the first sound of 
her offspring’s voice, and had followed Rick 
with hurried steps. Of course Dolly con- 
sidered it her duty to cuff Ab’ram Linkun 
soundly, which she did, calling him “ a good- 
for-nothin’, no-account niggah.” Her part- 
ing admonition to her boy, as she went 
back to her work, was “ to behave like a 
gen’leman.” 

I hardly believe poor little Abraham Lin- 
coln knew how gentlemen behaved, and he 
may not have known that he was not fol- 
lowing the example of those worthy mem- 
bers of society when, a half hour later, he 
went down to the old stone wall behind the 
barn and tried to creep through a small hole 
in it. Some of the stones had fallen out, 
and the hole looked very enticing to the 
little colored boy. 

“ ril play I’m a squirrel, an’ I’ll get through 
thar quic' er an’ you can say s’cat,” he said 


ABB LINKUN^S PBANB:S. I51 

to himself jubilantly as he pushed his head 
into the hole and pressed his neck and 
shoulders after it. But, much to his dis- 
may, he could get no farther. He endeav- 
ored to get back, but his struggles only 
wedged him tighter as some loose and 
crumbling stones fell about him. He could 
raise his head a little, and while doing so he 
saw a turkey walking serenely toward him. 
Suppose that turkey should nip his head ? 

“ Oh, lawd o’ marsy 1 oh, lawd o’ marsy ! 
Mammy ! mammy ! mammy !” he screamed, 
but Dolly Varden did not come to his res- 
cue, being in blissful ignorance of her son’s 
jeopardy. But the turkey walked on. Evi- 
dently he was not of an investigating nature 
— at least not as far as woolly heads were 
concerned. 

A new terror loomed up before the boy’s 
vision ; it was nothing but a mild-faced cow 
pasturing in the meadow, but to poor help- 
less Abr’am Linkun that cow seemed as 
terrible as did the Inquisition to stouter 
souls. Slowly but deliberately that cow 
was approaching him. How she did chew 
and chew, and look and look ! He had 


152 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

never noticed what horrible eyes cows had 
before. If he could name her he would call 
her Bluebeard. And Bluebeard was com- 
ing nearer and nearer to that detestable old 
wall and to the head sticking through it. 

“Mammy! mammy! mammy!” Abr’am 
Linkun shrieked, but no mammy came. 
Oh, if she only would, she might cuff him 
all night. Oh, if he could only get his hands 
out to cuff that horrible cow that was smell- 
ing his head — actually smelling it ! Did she 
think it was a cabbage-head? And would 
she try to swallow it whole ? Oh, how he 
longed to shriek “ Mammy !” again, but he 
dared not while that cow was smelling him. 
But at last the cow walked on, sublimely 
unconscious of the misery she had caused, 
and Abr’am Linkun tested his lungs to 
their full power. Thinking his mother had 
become deaf, this time he shrieked, “ Mas’ 
Rick ! Mas' Rick ! Mas’ Rick !” 

Fortunately, Rick had just gone to the 
barn for eggs, and he ran to the rescue. 

“ Land of Goshen !” he said, pulling the 
boy out, “ if it don’t take you to make things 
lively !” 


ABE LINKUN^S PRANKS. 1 53 

It was the morning of the fifth cleaning 
day. 

“I don’t see how we are to do all we want 
to do to-day,” Lucy said impatiently. 

“Neither do 1,” calmly replied her aunt, 
“for you want to do too much. We have 
been told that ‘As our days shall our 
strength be,’ but that does not mean we 
should crowd two or three days’ work in 
one. • Which shall we do — finish arranaine 
the up-stairs rooms or clean the parlor, now 
that Dolly is ready to help?” 

“You decide, auntie; you know best.” 

“ I will decide in favor of the parlor then, 
for we can do what is to be done up stairs 
after Dolly is gone.” 

And so the ragged carpet was taken up, 
the old vases taken down, and all became 
interested, for the parlor was their sitting- 
room, and all were anxious to see how it 
would look when cleaned. By noon it was 
as clean as soap and water could make it. 
After dinner Dolly began work in the din- 
ing-room, promising to wash up the dinner- 
dishes as soon as the carpet was on the 
line. 


154 the blakes and the blooms. 

Miss Blake went back into the empty 
parlor to consider how to begin dressing it. 

“But now that the parlor is cleaned, the 
wall-paper looks worse than ever. Look at 
that rim where the boys have leaned their 
heads, and that hideous spot up high where 
Rick threw a muddy ball. Oh, Aunt Mary, 
I don’t believe there is any use trying to fix 
up this old room,” Lucy said dolefully. 

“ It would be nice, of course, to have fresh 
paper; but as you say your father can’t af- 
ford it at present, we must make the best 
of it as it is. Have you any rolls of pretty 
paper in the house, girls ?” 

Ethel brought forth a wooden box from 
a clothes-press, and Miss Blake began a 
search for a paper that would answer as a 
sort of dado. 

“This is just the thing,” she said delight- 
edly, unrolling a piece of paper. “What 
if dados around the parlor are not strictly 
fashionable, they are attractive, and I’m sure 
much more desirable than grease-spots.” 

“It will be pretty, I do believe,” Lucy 
said, her doleful look replaced with a bright 
smile, as her aunt held up the roll so as to 


ABE LINKUN^S PRANKS. 1 55 

show the effect. “But what will you do 
with that big spot on the chimney? You 
don’t mean to paste paper over that, do 
you ?” 

Miss Blake laughed. “ Not exactly,” she 
said. “ I have a gay Japanese fan in my 
trunk ; you shall have that, and it will kill 
two birds with one stone — conceal a de- 
formity and enhance the beauty of our 
parlor.” 

Rick went for the step-ladder and Miss 
Blake for the fan, and very soon it was on 
the wall, and every one pleased with its 
looks. 

“ Now, Rick, if we had a long smooth 
board we could make some paste and put 
the dado on ourselves ; it will be light 
work.” 

It was quite wonderful to the girls to see 
Rick’s alacrity in answering all demands 
made upon him. He soon had the desired 
board arranged conveniently, and then 
helped Miss Blake make the paste for the 
dado. It took several hours to get the 
paper laid handsomely, but all felt repaid 
for the trouble. 


156 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

“Now, as this is Saturday, and we ought 
to take our baths and make other prep- 
arations for the morrow, we will just 
straighten things a little, so as to be com- 
fortable over the Sabbath, and then we can 
enjoy a quiet evening,” Miss Blake said. 

“I almost wish it was not Sunday to- 
morrow ; then we could go right on with 
our cleaning,” Lucy remarked thought- 
lessly. 

“ I am glad it is the Sabbath day,” replied 
her aunt, a thoughtful look beaming from 
her eyes. “ It is an exceedingly sweet 
thought to me that, however great one’s 
labor and weariness may be through the 
busy six days, then comes the precious 
seventh laden with rest and peace, during 
which we can draw nearer to the Saviour 
who died for us and loves us.” 

Lucy felt the gentle rebuke in her aunt’s 
reply, and said, apologetically, “After all, 
auntie, I rather think I am glad too.” 

“Of course you are, my dear girl. And 
now we will carry some of the chairs and 
tables into the parlor, so that it need not 
be entirely deserted to-morrow.” 


AB£ LINKUN^S PRANKS. 1 57 

“ I can’t find the milk ; where is it?” asked 
Rick, looking into the parlor, where Miss 
Blake and the two girls were busily arrang- 
ing the furniture. 

“What do you want with milk?” Lucy 
inquired. 

“ I want some for Bop ; he’s sick.” 

“Well, the milk is under a jar in the ice- 
box, but I don’t see any sense in wasting 
milk on sick dogs.” 

“ I am glad Rick is so fond of animals,” 
Miss Blake remarked as the boy disap- 
peared ; “ a noble boy is always kind to 
dumb creatures. Whatever we may think 
or say of the religion of the Hindoos, we 
must acknowledge the beauty in that part 
of it which teaches kindness to animals. 
At Bombay there is a hospital of this kind 
covering several acres ; part of it is open 
to the heavens, while the remainder is occu- 
pied with low stone buildings and sheds.” 

“That is going too far, I think,” Lucy 
replied. 

“Well, perhaps so, but it’s better to have 
an over-supply of the milk of human kind- 
ness than to be deficient in it.” 


CHAPTER XIIL 


MR. B LAKEYS RETURN. 



ONDAY and Tuesday finished the 


TVX cleaning. Dolly was paid and dis- 
missed, and, to her great joy, received a 
large bundle of old clothes to make over 
for Abr’am Linkun. The children were 
ecstatic over the change wrought in their 
home, and when their mother was wheeled 
about the house to see the fruit of their 
labor, tears of joy ran down her cheeks. 

“ The great thought now to bear in mind,” 
Miss Blake said, “ is that the house is to be 
kept clean and orderly. Engage Dolly to 
come once a week to do general cleaning, 
and you girls can easily do the rest, with 
the help the boys will be able to give you.” 

“ Of course we can,” assented Ethel, “ and 
I do believe I really enjoy housework ; now 
that everything is bright and shining, things 
go easier.” 


158 


BLAKE’S RETURN. 


159 


“Work always goes easier when one’s 
heart is light ; and your heart feels re- 
lieved of a great burden now that you 
realize that you have done your duty.” 

“ I believe we should have lived in the 
dirt until the end of time if you had not 
come to us, auntie.” 

A loud peal of laughter came wafted 
through the window. 

“ Just hear that boy laugh,” said Lucy 
crossly. 

“Let him laugh,” Aunt Mary said with a 
bright smile ; “ I love to hear a boy laugh, 
especially in his own home.’' 

“ He didn’t laugh much before you came, 
but he laughs too much now.” 

“ I do not think so. I would never try to 
repress his buoyant spirits ; their overflow 
shows that he is a real boy and a happy boy. 
By the way, let us draw your mother’s couch 
in here and have a real jolly time this 
evening.” 

“ How ? Hire a fiddler and dance a jig ?” 
asked Lucy, facetiously. 

“ No, that isn’t necessary. We can tell 
stories, play games and have a little treat 


l60 . THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

as a surprise. We have berries and fresh 
cake, and we might make ice-cream.” 

“ And we might allow Rick to tell Tom 
Lawrence and Nick Chester to drop in ; 
that is, if mother will consent,” Ethel sug- 
gested, much to her aunt’s delight. It 
showed that she was beginning to care 
more for her brothers. “They need not 
know we are going to have refreshments,” 
Ethel continued. 

Mrs. Blake consented to allow the two 
boys to come over; so overjoyed Rick 
delivered the invitation. 

Such an evening as that was ! The boys, 
hitherto denied all company, never forgot it. 
They had games and plays, and Aunt Mary 
with smiling face passed heaped-up dishes 
of cream and cake, and Ethel followed with 
berries and lemonade, while their mother 
with happy face looked on. 

When the boys went to bed that night 
Jamie said to Rick, in a burst of admira- 
tion, “I say. Aunt Mary is a brick.” 

“ I don’t know as I’d call her that,” re- 
plied Rick, meditatively, “but I say, Jamie, 
she makes me think of what the Bible says 


MR. BLAKE^S RETURN. l6l 

about a virtuous woman : ‘ her price is 
above rubies.’ Aunt Mary is as good as 
gold, and better. Hasn’t she pulled down 
old musty cobwebs and let the sunshine in ? 
Hasn’t she made this house something more 
than a sort of pig-pen to eat and drink in 
and lie down to sleep in ? Isn’t she kind 
and good and jolly? Isn’t she a darling?” 

“ Of course she is,” assented Jamie, strong- 
ly; “and I say, Rick, she wouldn’t have to 
tell us she loved boys ; we can see it.” 

“Yes, we can see that, and we can see 
something else too.” 

“What?” 

“That the girls are beginning to care 
for us ; and, Jamie, I believe mamma really 
loves us, after all.” 

“Why, I always supposed mamma did 
love us, but she was too sick to tell us.” 

“Well, then, I never supposed anything 
of the kind. If she ever did she had a 
queer way of showing it. When folks love 
folks they like to have them around, I sup- 
pose, but you know mamma never could 
bear to have us come near her ; we always 
made her head ache harder or jarred her 
11 


1 62 THE BLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

nerves. I say, Jamie, I used to wonder why 
boys were ever born to be a torment and 
eyesore to the whole household, but I feel 
different now ; I feel as if I were some- 
body.’' 

“And I feel as if I were. Good-night, 
Rick ; I’m sleepy.” 

Those hours of merriment, how they have 
blotted out the remembrance of many days 
of coldness and neglect ! 

A day or two afterward Dr. Gay came 
again. He had been over to see Mr. Law- 
rence, and thought he would drop in and 
see how Mrs. Blake prospered. 

“ You’ll have to be introduced to mamma, 
I guess,” said Rick, laughing, as he tied 
the physician’s horse ; “ she’s wonderfully 
changed since you were here last.” 

“ Have I made a mistake, and got into 
the wrong house ?” asked Dr. Gay, bowing 
and smiling as he looked around in a mis- 
tified way at the many pleasant changes as 
Miss Blake led him through the bright hall, 
across the parlor and into the pleasant south 
room, where he found the hitherto doleful 
invalid smiling a welcome with flushed face 


MR. B LAKEYS RETURN. 1 63 

as she said, “ I hardly believe I shall need 
your professional calls much longer. See, 
I have found something to do and she 
held up a block of crazy patchwork for 
his inspection. 

"'You working?” he said in real amaze- 
ment. “ I thought yours were folded hands.” 

“ They were folded, but they are gradual- 
ly finding something to do.” 

“ There’s a regular mania for such trash,” 
Dr. Gay grumbled, frowning to hide his 
emotion, “ but Fm glad you have caught 
it — very glad ; it will do you a world of 
good.” 

He then felt his patient’s pulse and made 
suitable inquiries, and laughed aloud : 

“ Why, I verily believe you will have to 
be struck off of the invalids’ list before 
long. What has caused this wonderful 
change in two weeks ? Have you swal- 
lowed all my drugs at once ?” 

It was Mrs. Blake’s turn to laugh now, 
and she did so, thoroughly astounding her 
physician, who raised his eyebrows ques- 
tioningly, made a grimace and said, hon- 
estly, “ Wonders never will cease. Why, 


164 THE SLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

my dear woman, I had no idea that know- 
ing how to laugh was one of your accom- 
plishments. I declare I feel abused that 
you have failed to greet me in this way be- 
fore ; it is a great improvement on tears.” 

Of course Mrs. Blake laughed again. 
Who could have helped it? Then she 
said, soberly, “With all due respect, I must 
admit that I am not indebted to your pow- 
ders for the change in me. The truth is, 
that I have had a teacher from whom I have 
learned some lessons that I should have 
mastered years ago : one of them is to live 
to some purpose.” 

Miss Blake, who had left the doctor at 
the entrance of the sick room, now returned 
in time to hear him say devoutly, “And 
you have learned that lesson ? God be 
thanked !” And then, seeing her, he added, 
“ Eh, Miss Blake, it was only a chrysalis, but 
it did not die, did it ? I hear the flutter of 
the wings.” With which enigmatic words 
he went out of the sick room, called Miss 
Blake, gave her some advice in regard to 
his patient and some medicine to promote 
her new-found strength. 


MR. BLAKE'S RETURN. 


165 


“ By the time I come again I shall expect 
to see this home a real paradise upon earth,” 
he said. “ If you had lived in the olden 
time, and had wrought so great a change, 
they would have said, ‘ Lo, a miracle!’” 

“ I have only pointed out the way,” Miss 
Blake answered simply ; “ I believe our 
Father is leading them.” 

“Of course he is leading them, and with 
rapid strides too. I wonder what Mr. Blake 
will think of his home and of* his wife? I 
hope he will appreciate the change. I hear 
he is coming home soon.” 

“ I think my brother will be pleased with 
his home. We look for him to-morrow 
afternoon.” 

That day was a busy one. “ Baking up ” 
and the preparations for the home-coming 
of the father of the household were not 
finished until noon of the next day. Then, 
while the invalid was taking her usual after- 
noon nap, the other members of the family 
dressed for the afternoon. The boys could 
not do much dressing, as their shabby every- 
day suits were the best they had, but they 
brushed these well, and with clean linen 


1 66 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

they looked quite respectable. Ethel and 
Lucy, at their aunt’s suggestion, put on their 
pretty new cambrics and wore a bunch of 
roses on their shoulders. 

How pretty the house looked in its 
dress of welcome for Mr. Blake ! Every 
room was thrown open and was scented 
with fragrant flowers. Ethel’s bird, swing- 
ing in its golden cage, sang as joyfully as 
the birds nesting in the trees outside. In 
the dining-room the sideboard shone with 
bright silver and pretty dishes skillfully ar- 
ranged. The table was tastefully laid for 
supper with spotless cloth and napkins and 
the best tea-service the house afforded. A 
dish of flowers in the centre was arranged 
in tiers, delighting the eyes and filling the 
room with sweetness. But far better than 
flowers or pretty dishes, in the eyes of the 
boys, was the “jolly supper waiting for 
father.” 

“Look, Jamie,” said Rick, lifting up a 
corner of a napkin; “see that platter of 
thinly-sliced corned beef garnished with 
thinly-sliced boiled eggs. My ! wouldn’t 
I like to pounce on it and eat it now ? And 


MR. B LAKEYS RETURN. 


167 


look there!” lifting- up another napkin ; “see 
that great heaped-up dish of Saratoga pota- 
toes? Don’t suppose we’d have ever heard 
of Saratoga potatoes if Aunt Mary hadn’t 
dropped down amongst us like an angel 
from heaven.” 

“A great deal better than an angel from 
heaven,” answered Jamie, enthusiastically : 
“an angel wouldn’t know how to cook as 
Aunt Mary does.” 

“ You’d better believe an angel wouldn’t,” 
assented Rick, vehemently ; “ but I say, Jamie, 
if an angel wanted to eat, I don’t believe an 
angel could find anything nicer than those 
cream cakes. And there are sugar-rolled 
crullers — didn’t I roll them just up to the 
handle? — and there’s fresh brown bread, 
and there are biscuit ready for the oven, 
and berries — great whoppers they are — in 
the refrigerator.” 

“ I wish it was time for father to come,” 
said Jamie, “ I want to see him awfully ;” 
and then with a roguish look he added, 
“ I’m dreadfully hungry ; I feel as if I was 
empty.” 

“ It is time,” said Rick, glancing at the 


1 68 THE SLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

clock ; “ if he takes the first street-car after 
his train gets to the city, he can’t be much 
longer on the way. — Hurrah !” rushing to 
door ; “ there he is now !” 

Ethel and Lucy heard Rick’s shout, and 
they followed the boys down the garden- 
walk. As for Miss Blake, she pushed the 
invalid’s chair nearer the parlor-window, so 
that she could peep through the blinds and 
witness the meeting. There were tears in 
Mrs. Blake’s eyes, but there was a smile 
upon her face. 

Mr. Blake looked pale and weary as he 
entered the yard, but as he approached the 
house and his children ran to greet him 
with words of welcome, his face flushed and 
his eyes brightened with pleasure. 

“Ah, it seems good to get home again,” 
he said, returning their kisses. “And how 
well you all look, and how pretty ! *How 
is mother? The blinds in her room are 
tightly closed, I see. She isn’t worse, I 
hope — is she?” 

“ No, sir, she isn’t worse ; she’s better, and 
she is waiting to see you,” answered Ethel ; 
at which reply her father broke loose from 


MR. BLAKE'S RETURN. 1 69 

his flock and walked rapidly toward the 
house and started up the stairs. 

“John !” called a familiar voice. 

Mr. Blake paused on the fourth step to 
listen. 

“John !” 

He turned and went down again, and 
through the open doorway into the parlor. 
He fairly trembled at the scene there that 
met his view — the pretty room, clean and 
attractive and fragrant with the scent of 
flowers, and his wife, so long a prisoner in 
a dark, dungeon-like room, sitting where 
the sunlight streamed over her, brightening 
her silver-threaded hair, smiling a welcome 
to him that somehow touched him with a 
tenderness almost painful in its intensity. 
His sister, dressed in white, with a bunch 
of roses at her throat, stood near his wife’s 
chair. 

“ Bertha ! Mary !” he exclaimed, “ some- 
how I feel dazed. It must be from walking 
in the sun, for,” and his voice sank lower, 
“ I’ve not been drinking — not a drop to- 
day. What does it all mean ? Am I 
dreaming ?” 


170 THE BLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

Both his wife and sister reached out a 
hand. He took them both, and, leaning 
down, kissed their owners. 

“You are not dreaming; you see we are 
real flesh and blood,” Miss Blake said 
cheerily, looking into her brother’s face 
with moist eyes. 

“Yes, I see. Even Bertha, whom I thought 
a shadow ready to vanish, has a tinge of 
color in her cheek and a happy look, such 
as I have not seen in her eyes for years. I 
can’t understand these changes — Bertha, 
children, the house !” looking around the 
pleasant room. “ Is it you, Mary, whom we 
have to thank for all this ?” 

His voice quivered as he spoke, and it 
was a voice tremulous with deep feeling 
that answered, 

“ No, we have all worked together, every 
one of us.” 

“All except me,” said Mrs. Blake. 

“ You too have worked; these words of 
Mrs. Browning mean much : 


‘ Be sure no earnest work 
Of any honest creature, howbeit w^eak, 
Imperfect, ill-adapted, fails so much 


MR. BLAKE'S RETURN. I /I 

It is not gathered, as a grain of sand, 

For carrying out God’s end.’ ” 

The children had followed Mr. Blake to 
the parlor. Ethel, approaching her father, 
said, “ How do you like the looks of the 
parlor, papa ?” 

“ ‘ Like the looks’ ? Why, my dear girl, 
I am so overwhelmed with the looks of my 
family and my home that I can’t express 
my joy.” 

“Well, you’ll express joy when you eat 
your supper; you can’t help it — such a 
jolly supper! Come, father, wash up, and 
we’ll all go to work and diminish the pile 
on the dining-room table.” It was Rick 
who spoke, and they all laughed. 

Pretty soon the family, with even the sick 
mother in her wheeled chair,, were seated 
around the dining-room table. But not- 
withstanding Mr. Blake thoroughly appre- 
ciated the supper — such a supper as he had 
not eaten in his own house in years — he ate 
but little ; he was too strangely stirred to 
care much at present for the food before 
him ; he was thinking of another kind of 
food — such food as famished souls desire. 


172 THE BLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

It was the second evening after Mr. 
Blake’s return. He was lying on his old 
loved lounge in the dining-room in the 
twilight, and thinking deep thoughts. He 
felt that his house had become a home, and 
he knew that it was not only because of its 
cleanliness and orderliness, however pleas- 
ant and desirable such accessories were, but 
because of the working of a new spirit that 
was as leaven, raising all the members of 
the family nearer something. What was 
it? Was it the Rock? Was it Christ? 

Ethel, coming in, did not see her father, 
but he called, “ Come here, my daughter.” 

She came and sat down beside him. 

“ I have been studying my lesson, Ethel.” 

“Your lesson, papa?” 

“Yes. Shall I recite it to you ?” 

“I don’t understand what you mean, but 
I will listen to whatever you care to tell 
me.” 

“When I went away our house was in 
the shade, you know ; was it not ?” 

“ I should think so ! Oh, what a house it 
was, with the pleasantest rooms shut up and 
all the others dirty, disorderly and dreary !” 


MR. B LAKEYS RETURN. 1 73 

“But now it is clean and pure, and 
its windows open toward the sun. Your 
mother, Ethel, has been wakened into new 
life. The sun has tinted her cheeks, bright- 
ened her face and curved her lips into the 
sweetness of bygone days. Ethel, my child, 
I have been a wretched sinner — oh, such a 
wretched sinner ! — livinof in the shade volun- 
tarily, as if unconscious that in my soul there 
has been a closed south room that I had 
willfully neglected to open toward my Sa- 
viour.” 

“ Is it open now ?” Ethel asked softly. 

“Thank God it is ! Since I came home I 
have watched your aunt Mary weaving her 
golden threads, and the rest of you weaving 
too, and I’ll weave no more webs of sin, 
God helping me. I grieve over my past 
life, and I firmly believe that, notwithstand- 
ing my past sins of omission and commis- 
sion, the Sun — the Sun of Righteousness — 
will quicken my barren life into flowering, 
first the leaf, then the blossom, and, in his 
own good time, the fruit. Do you agree 
with me, my child ?” 

“ Yes, papa, I do. What you say reminds 


174 the b lakes and the blooms. 

me of something auntie read to us out of a 
paper a few evenings ago ; it was this : A 
Californian planted a eucalyptus tree ten 
years ago. For a period of seven years 
there was no perceptible improvement nor 
growth. However, at the end of that time 
the tree shot up rapidly. Recently, while 
cleaning his well, he found the bottom 
matted with eucalyptus-roots, which had 
forced their way through the brick wall of 
the well, so as to get at the water. The 
well was fifty-five feet distant from the spot 
where the tree stood above ground. Aunt 
Mary said, ‘ Brave eucalyptus ! What a 
lesson one can learn from it to press on 
until one finds the water necessary for 
one’s growth !’ ” 

“Your aunt Mary is right. But our 
Father does not ask his children to work 
seven years to find the ‘ living water ’ that 
they require. I have just discovered that 
one needs only to reach out for it, and, lo ! 
it is given.” 

“ I am glad, papa, that you have found 
that wellspring. I begin to think that I 
have too.” 


B LAKEYS RETURN. \ 1 75 

Mr. Blake pressed his daughter’s hand, as 
he questioned eagerly, “And the rest?” 

“ I think mamma and Lucy are seeking, 
and I ’most believe Rick is. You know it 
is promised that those that seek shall find. 
Oh, papa, how thankful we ought to be that 
God sent Aunt Mary to us to help us out 
of the slough ! She has taught us so much 
— oh, so much! Lucy and I were awful 
cross and shiftless girls for only sixteen, 
and — ” 

“ But you were so young,” her father in 
terrupted with a groan, “and had no father 
and mother. Thank God, they are both 
awake now I” 

“We treated the boys so hatefully,” Ethel 
said, going on with her sentence. “ I verily 
believe, now that my eyes are opened, that 
they would have been driven to bad ways 
if we had not come to our senses. Oh, 
how Rick has changed in the little while 
since auntie came ! He was rude and 
rough and disobliging, but now he’s kind 
and so reliable ; and then you see how ten- 
der he is with mamma now that she enjoys 
having him come to her. Why, I had to 


iy6 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

leave the room this morning and have a cry 
all by myself when I saw her thin fingers 
fastening Rick’s linen collar as she looked 
down lovingly upon him. It seems so in- 
expressibly good to have mamma think 
of us !” 

Edith choked back her sobs, and she 
knew, from the sound coming from her 
father, that h^r sobs were echoed. 

But they were sobs of joy. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

RICK^S CONFESSION. 

I T was Sunday and the last day of Miss 
Blake’s visit at her brother’s home. 
At the time of her arrival she had found 
them sadly remiss about church attendance ; 
as for prayer-meeting, apparently they had 
never thought of paying attention to that 
call. The little chapel-bell had a very fas- 
cinating sound to Miss Blake’s ears, and 
now, after over four weeks of constant in- 
tercourse with her, the girls were aroused, 
and they too listened to the bell calling, 
Come ! come !” They could not both 
leave their mother at one time, but she 
had no objection to their going alternately, 
and they did. Somehow, before they were 
hardly conscious of the desire to join the 
workers on the Lord’s side, they were tak- 
ing steps toward them — feeble steps, waver- 

12 177 


lyS THE BLARES AND THE BLOOMS. 

ing ones, but yet they were steps upward, 
human weakness reaching toward divine 
strength. 

That Sabbath afternoon Miss Blake, suf- 
fering with a severe headache, was lying 
upon her bed with bandaged head, when 
there came a low rap at her door. Think- 
ing probably that it was one of the girls, she 
called, without rising, “ Come in.” 

The door opened, and to Miss Blake’s 
surprise Rick walked in. By the time he 
got halfway across the darkened room he 
stopped in dismay : 

“Oh, auntie. I’m sorry I disturbed you ; 
I didn’t know you were lying down. Are 
you sick? Were you asleep?” 

“ No, not asleep ; I have a headache, and 
was resting.” 

“And I have spoiled the whole business. 
Well, I’m off before I make any more 
trouble and the boy backed toward the 
door, but he was recalled : 

“ Come here, Rick.” 

He came close to the bedside. 

“ You wanted something of me ?” she said, 
questioningly. 


RICK^S CONFESSION. 1 79 

“ I did, auntie, but I don’t now, when your 
head is aching.” 

“ Never mind my head, dear. Sit down 
beside me and tell me what troubles you.” 

Rick did not sit down, but he.knelt down, 
and said sorrowfully, “ It isn’t anything very 
nice, auntie, the story I have to tell; it’ll 
make your headache harder to hear it. 

“It will make my heart ache not to hear 
it, now that I know you need some one to 
comfort you.” 

“I hate to tell you. Aunt Mary, because 
you’ll not feel like calling me your boy after 
you hear my confession. And then, again, 
though it sounds like a contradiction, \wani 
to tell you, because it seems to me as if I 
were sailing under false colors. You think 
I’m a good boy when I’m not, but rather a 
detestable one. But I’ll make a clean breast 
of the whole thing if you think you can 
stand it.” 

“ Go on, dear ; don’t keep me in suspense 
any longer,” his aunt said, putting another 
pillow under her head, so that she could see 
her nephew better, and then putting one of 
her arms caressingly around his neck. 


l8o THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

“Take your arm away, auntie,” Rick 
stammered, trying hard to control himself; 
“ you might as well do it now, before I be- 
gin ; then I won’t have to wince after I get 
into my story, for you can’t help taking it 
away then.” 

“ I shall not feel like taking my arm away, 
my dear boy, whatever you may disclose to 
me. Tell your story, please.” 

“Well, auntie,” he said, looking up with 
a pale but courageous face, “ I’m in for it 
now. I’ve been a mean fellow for the past 
six months — not counting the time since 
you came, for indeed I’ve tried to be good 
lately, but before, you know. Why, I’ve 
secretly gone with bad fellows, and smoked, 
and I’ve played cards, and — and — auntie, 
oh, auntie !” with a burst of tears, “ I’ve 
even gone so far as to go into saloons with 
the fellows and drink wine several times. 
Don’t you hate me now, auntie?” And he 
brushed away his tears impatiently and 
looked at his aunt with a sad face. 

“ Do you think I hate you, Rick ?” she 
asked. 

He felt her arm tightening about his neck. 


RICK'S CONFESSION. l8l 

He saw tears in her eyes. He was con- 
scious of the tenderness of her voice. 

“ No, no,” he sobbed ; “ I know you don’t 
hate me or you wouldn’t look and act as 
you do ; but I can’t see how you can help it. 
I believe you are almost an angel, Aunt 
Mary.” 

“ Far from it, my dear Rick ; I don’t feel 
at all angelic. I’m only a faulty old maiden 
aunt, but I do try to walk in my Master’s 
footprints, and I only echo his words when 
I say to you, ‘ Go and sin no more.’ If you 
are repentant, dear boy, though your sins 
be as crimson, they will be forgiven.” ' 

“ Mine have been crimson, sure enough,” 
moaned poor Rick. 

“ How were you led into these wrong 
ways, dear?” 

“ I hardly know, myself. I don’t blame 
anybody but Rick Blake, auntie ; but, you 
see, I had to go somewhere. I was born, 
and I had to occupy some place. I was al- 
ways in some one’s way at home. Mamma 
couldn’t endure my noise, and the girls pre- 
ferred my room to my company ; so last 
winter and spring we used to meet over 


1 82 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

in Tom Lawrence’s barn, and we smoked 
and read papers that you wouldn’t wipe 
your feet on, auntie, and some of the boys 
told stories that I shouldn’t want you to 
hear, and even I, as wicked as I was, did 
not like them ; they seemed to burn me 
somehow.” 

“ And of course Tom Lawrence was there 
too ?” 

“Yes, ma’am ; Tom is always where I am. 
His mother never likes to have him around 
the house either, and his sister Rose thinks 
all boys are nuisances.” 

“ I am sorry about this, very sorry ; but I 
am very glad that you have told me, for it 
shows that you are becoming more sensi- 
tive to sin and that you love and trust me. 
Rick, my boy, now that you have been down 
in the mire and find it bad and repulsive, are 
you trying to reach up to grasp the Hand 
outstretched to save you ? Do you want to 
plant your feet upon the Rock which never 
fails ?” 

Inexpressibly tender was the voice ask- 
ing these questions, and Rick, burying his 
face in the bed-clothes, answered tearfully, 


RICK'S CONFESSION. 


183 


“ I am trying to reach up ; I do want to put 
my feet upon that Rock. Help me, auntie 
— oh, help me !” 

“ I can help you, dear boy, by praying for 
you, but you must seek a divine Helper. 
No one can anchor one’s soul on humanity, 
however tender that humanity may be.” 

“ What do you mean, auntie 

“ I mean that although I love you dearly, 
and am rejoiced to do what I can for you, 
my love is not powerful enough to make 
you resist bad influences. Do you under- 
stand me, Rick ?” 

“Yes, ma’am, I think I do?” 

“Life is a sea that we must all cross. 
What would you think of any one who 
should attempt to cross the sea without a 
pilot, a compass or a captain ?” 

“I should call him an idiot or a lunatic,” 
Rick answered decidedly. 

“Well, dear, you are neither the one nor 
the other. You are young; you can choose 
your Captain now. Choose the Lord Jesus. 
He will not only be Captain, but in him you 
will find compass and pilot and all things 
desirable.” 


184 THE SLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

“ But I have so sinned against him 

“ So you have. Seek him and ask for- 
giveness for the past sins, Rick. Push 
those blinds open a little way, and bring 
me my Bible from the bureau, please.’' 

He did so, and, opening the book, she 
read : “ ‘ To him that overcometh will I give 
to eat of the hidden manna, and will give 
him a white stone, and in the stone a new 
name written, which no man knoweth saving 
he that receiveth it.’ ” 

“ I would like to have that white stone, 
Aunt Mary.” 

“You can possess it if you desire, and 
when it is yours you are anchored sure and 
steadfast. You will be tried, dear boy; we 
all are, you know, and we want to be. 
What Christian wants to be carried to 
heaven on a bed of rose-leaves ? But you 
will come forth victor. We are ever to 
press forward toward perfection. You will 
slip now and then, but no matter how many 
fathoms deep beneath the billows of trouble 
and temptation your anchor is lying if it 
holds to the Rock that cannot, will not, 
fail you.” 


RICK^S CONFESSION. 185 

Another rap at Miss Blake’s door. Rick 
went out through a door leading into an- 
other chamber, and from thence into the 
hall and to his own room. As soon as his 
curly head vanished Miss Blake called, 
“ Come in,” and Ethel entered, 

“ I wouldn’t have disturbed you,” she 
said, apologetically, “ but I felt sure I heard 
you talking. Strange how people can be 
mistaken !” looking around to see if any 
one was lurking in any corner. “Are 
you better, auntie? Have you had a nice 
nap ?” 

“ My head still aches. No, I have not 
slept, nor do I care to sleep at present. I 
shall not be able to attend church to-night, 
and I shall retire early, so as to be fresh 
and strong for my journey.” 

“ I wish, from the depths of my heart, that 
there was no journey ahead of you. Oh, 
auntie, if you only could stay with us all 
the time !” 

“ If I could I certainly would, since you 
all desire it; but it cannot be!” 

“We need you so much, auntie !” 

“ But not so much as my poor old mother 


1 86 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

does. I suppose these weeks have been 
dolefully long to her.” 

“And the weeks to come will be dolefully 
long to us.” 

“Well, Ethel, my dear girl, I am glad 
that you feel that you will miss me, for 
although one does not desire to grieve 
one’s friends, one does like to be missed. 
However, if you weave your tapestry well 
the weeks will not seem long.” 

“Weave our tapestry well ? What tap- 
estry ?” 

“The books tell us that the Saracenic 
tapestries were only ornamented with flow- 
ers and geometric figures ; but the Flem- 
ings sought to enrich them with historic 
subjects of the highest order ; and so im- 
portant did this art become that the most 
eminent masters in painting, from Raphael 
downward, bestowed their greatest efforts 
upon ‘ cartoons ’ to serve as copies for the 
tapestry-workers. Now, Ethel, my child, to 
weave our life-tapestry well we need but 
one pattern, and that from our divine Mas- 
ter. He has given it to us in these words : 
‘Follow me.’ Here in the pocket of my 


RICHES CONFESSION. 1 87 

Bible I have a poem that I will read to 
you : 

‘ Let us learn a useful lesson — no braver lesson can be — 

From the ways of the tapestry-weavers on the other side of the 
sea. 

Above their heads the pattern hangs ; they study it with care, 
And as to and fro the shuttle leaps their eyes are fastened there. 

* They tell this curious thing besides of the patient plodding 

weaver : 

He works on the wrong side evermore, but works for the right 
side ever. 

It is only when the weaving stops, and the web is loosed and 
turned. 

That he sees his real handiwork — that his marvelous skill is 
learned. 

* Ah ! the sight of its delicate beauty, it pays him for all his cost: 
No rarer, daintier work than his was ever done by the frost. 
Then the master bi'ingeth him golden hire, and giveth him 

praise as well. 

And how happy the heart of the weaver is no tongue but his 
own can tell. 

‘ The years of man are the looms of God, let down from the 
place of the sun. 

Wherein we are ever weaving till the mystic web is done — 
Weaving blindly, but weaving surely, each for himself his fate. 
We may not see how the right side looks — we can only weave 
and wait. 

* But, looking above for the pattern, no weaver hath need to fear : 
Only let him look clear into heaven — the perfect Pattern is 

there. 


1 88 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 


If he keeps the face of the Saviour for ever and always in 
sight, 

His tol shall be sweeter than honey, and his weaving sure to 
be right. 

‘ And when his task is ended, and the web is turned and shown, 

He shall hear the voice of the Master; it shall say to him, 
“Well done!” 

And the white-winged angels of heaven to bear him thence 
shall come down, 

And God shall give him for his hire not golden coin, but a 
crown !’ ” 


CHAPTER XV. 

RUTH AND NAT. 


I T was no worse than thousands of other 
little close city tenement-rooms, and it 
had this advantage over some of them — 
namely, that it was cheery inside. To be 
sure, very little sunshine, even in summer, 
found its way through the small windows 
opening upon the dingy street; but then 
there was usually such a glow of moral 
sunshine springing up from Ruth Millard’s 
heart that somehow Nat Millard did not 
seem to miss the other kind, or hardly to 
realize that they had only a scant allowance 
of it, until he overheard Dr. Minturn say, 
in answer to the question, “And how is 
Ruth Millard ?” — “ I fear the gentle, pretty 
girl will find her mansion,” pointing up- 
ward, “very soon. You see, what she 
needs is rest and sunshine, and she can’t 
have either.” 


189 


T90 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

Nat Millard set his lips firmly, and then 
opened them to ejaculate, “ Fd like to 
knov/ why she can’t have them. If there’s 
rest and sunshine to be had for love or 
money, she shall have them. Nat Millard 
is the boy who loves his sister as well as 
any boy could love a sister, and his hands 
are strong enough to earn money; and they 
shall. Things seem to be mixed up in this 
world. Some folks get more than they 
deserve, and some folks don’t get a tenth 
part of what they deserve. Now, there’s 
Rose Chandler, a homely, proud, lazy girl, 
riding in her carriage getting air and sun- 
shine, and here’s my sweet, gentle, busy 
Ruth fastened to the house and working, 
though she’s sick. I tell you, it ain’t fair 
and Nat struck out his fist and looked dag- 
gers at an old woman who was passing by. 
Of course, he was not thinking of her when 
he struck out his fist and looked so threat- 
eningly savage, but she thought so, and went 
home muttering, “What a sour-looking fel- 
low that is ! I’m glad I ain’t got such a 
boy.” 

“She sha’n’t find her ‘mansion.’ I’ll keep 


RUTH AND NAT. 


I9I 

her out of it as long as I can,” said Nat, 
shaking his fist again, never thinking of 
any one that might be passing by. This 
time the grieved one proved to be old Mrs. 
Cutler, who was both shocked and angry. 
She stepped into Ruth Millard’s little room 
to ask quickly, “ Has that ugly boy been 
fightin’ you, Ruth?” 

“ Fighting me ? Who ? What ugly boy ?” 

“Why, Nat. I saw him by the window, 
and he looked worse than a thunder-cloud, 
and he shook his fist savagely at me, as if I 
was a dog.” 

Ruth laughed. “ It couldn’t have been 
Nat. Nat is the gentlest and best boy in 
the whole world ; he wouldn’t shake his fist 
at a dog,” she said. 

“Well, I always thought he was gentle 
till now, but I’m sure that that was Nat at 
the window. Who else could be in his 
room ?” 

The door from Nat’s box of a room 
opened now, and Nat walked in, his bright 
face smiling as he said, “ Good-afternoon, 
Mrs. Cutler; I’m glad to see you.” 

Mrs. Cutler did not respond to Nat’s 


192 THE BLARES AND THE BLOOMS, 

friendly salutation, but she asked instead, 
“Was it you or your ghost who shook a 
fist at me a few minutes ago?” 

Nat laughed; “I shook my fist, but it 
wasn’t at you.” 

“ It must have been. I looked both ways, 
and I was the only one in sight,” she as- 
serted. 

“ But it was at my thoughts that I shook 
my fist; they were real torturing chaps — 
regular demons, that gave me a grip that 
I didn’t like. Excuse me, Mrs. Cutler. I 
wouldn’t think of shaking my fist at you ; 
you’ve been too kind to Ruth for that.” 

And then Nat went out of doors, and 
Mrs. Cutler looked around the room, held 
out her chilled hands to be warmed by the 
heat of the cozy little cooking* stove, and 
said appreciatingly, as if entirely forgetting 
Nat’s menacing fist, “ This is a box of a 
room, and no mistake, but it’s pleasant.” 

Ruth’s bed reached nearly across one 
side, leaving room at the foot for only one 
chair and her workstand. On the other 
side was her little parlor cooking-stove, her 
low rocker and Nat’s arm-chair. Close to 


RUTH AND NAT. 


193 


the window, on a shelf across its top, were 
Ruth’s few plants, and under them her sew- 
ing-machine. In the corner, a yard only 
away, hung a nest of swinging shelves hold- 
ing Ruth’s and Nat’s treasured books and 
papers. To be sure, the former were old 
and well-thumbed, and the latter were com- 
pletely guiltless of the news of the day, but 
then they were pure and contained articles 
of merit ; so, even if somewhat stale, they 
were better than no bread or unwholesome 
bread. There were two pictures on the 
low walls — one a portrait of Ruth and Nat 
with their arms around each other, and the 
other a bright, cheap chromo representing 
a country scene — flowers and trees, shining 
water and blue clouds, with children playing 
on the grass. In the former Ruth appeared 
a little girl with rose-red cheeks and lips, 
the picture of glowing health, and Nat was 
a baby-boy with eyes beaming with roguish* 
ness as they looked out from a cloud of 
yellow curls. Ah ! how often Ruth looked 
at that portrait and thought of the happy 
bygone days when she and Nat had lived 
in a home of peace and plenty ! In her 

13 


194 the b lakes and the blooms. 

memory there yet lingered the tint of sky 
and hill and plain about the dear old home, 
and even, at times, she fancied the gentle 
wind was rustling about her and whisper- 
ing to her to come to the sweet haunts of 
bygone days. 

“ But I can’t,” she said in answer to this 
heart-cry, shutting her teeth tightly and 
closing her humid eyes for a moment. 
“ And there’s no use brooding over the past. 
We’ve as much as we can do to walk with- 
out slipping along the path of the present, 
without looking back.” 

“How about the sewing? Have you all 
that you can do ?” asked Mrs. Cutler, see- 
ing Ruth fold up her little machine-spread 
and remove the machine-cover, preparatory 
to beginning work. 

“Yes, ma’am, all that I can do, and I am 
very thankful.” 

Notwithstanding Ruth’s assertion, an in- 
voluntary sigh escaped her, and with one 
hand she pressed her side for a moment. 

Mrs. Cutler’s quick eyes noticed the 
movement. “Ruth,” she said, “does your 
side pain you ?” 


RUTH AND NAT. 


195 


“Yes, ma’am, considerable,” Ruth an- 
swered honestly; and then, to change the 
subject, added, “Look, Mrs. Cutler, at these 
pretty under-clothes I am making — a whole 
suit for Rose Chandler. See these pieces 
that are finished ; are they not beautiful ?” 

They were indeed beautiful, with their 
elaborate puffing, ruffling and fine needle- 
work, but Mrs. Cutler did not praise them; 
she only said, bluntly, “ But you’ve got to 
stop this sewing, child, no matter how much 
money you get for it ; your health is fail- 
ing; Dr. Minturn told me so.” 

“Dr. Minturn?” exclaimed Ruth, a quick 
flush deepening on one of her cheeks. 

“Yes, Ruth, Dr. Minturn. Didn’t Nat 
bring him to dress your burned arm?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“But that was not all he did, was it?” 
asked the curious but kindly old woman. 

“ No, ma’am.” Ruth spoke slowly and 
with hesitation. “ He looked at me pretty 
sharp, and asked me a number of questions, 
and after that he examined my lungs.” 

“ Was that all ?” pursued the relentless 
questioner. 


196 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

“ Not quite. He said I’d have to be very 
careful, and that I must not sew on the 
machine. I am as careful as I know how 
to be, but, you see, I must work on the 
machine.” 

“ If it kills you ?” 

“ If it kills me.” 

“ Ruth !” 

“ Ma’am?” 

“ Do you know that is wicked?” 

“ Doubtless it sounds so, but I don’t 
think it is. You see. Dr. Minturn says if I 
continue working it will kill me, and I know 
if I don’t work I shall die of starvation ; so, 
you see, the question whether I’m to work 
or not is as broad as it is long, and I’d ra- 
ther work as long as I can, for Nat’s sake.” 

“ Nat’s a boy ; he can rough it.” 

“And who says he don’t rough it ?” Ruth 
replied with a gleam of indignation in her 
gentle eyes. “ He works at every little 
thing he can get to do ; nothing seems too 
menial, if it’s respectable for him to do, if 
he can only earn a trifle to bring to me. 
Why, Mrs. Cutler, he has even blacked 
boots !” 


RUTH AND NAT 


197 


“ Lots of boys do that.” 

“ So they do, but they are not such boys 
as my Nat ; he is too bright a boy to do 
such work.” 

“It won’t do to be proud, Ruth,” Mrs. 
Cutler said, rising to go. “Let Nat do 
whatever he can find to do, and you stop 
for a while this everlasting sewing. If you 
don’t it will stop you.” 

“She means to be kind,” Ruth said as 
the door closed after her guest, “ but her 
words cut like a knife.” 

With renewed effort she then busied her- 
self with Miss Chandler’s under-clothing. 
So much interested did she become in the 
dainty stitching that she forgot her pain, 
until, after an hour of steady application, 
when .she was congratulating herself that 
the last article was nearly finished, she felt 
a sharp pain in the lame side. A strange 
faintness threatened to overpower her ; in- 
deed, she only had time to reach her chair 
when it did overpower her. Nat, fortu- 
nately, came in just in time to catch her 
drooping head and wipe something from 
her pale lips. It was blood! With a sink- 


198 THE BLARES AND THE BLOOMS. 

ing heart Nat used all his boyish strength 
to lift her tenderly to her bed, and then ran 
to the door to send little Dick Burke after 
Dr. Minturn. He soon came, shook his 
head, left some medicine and repeated what 
he had said before : “ The child must rest ; 
she must not touch the machine for three 
weeks at least.” 

After the doctor had gone Nat lifted Rose 
Chandler’s under-garments from the floor, 
opened the door into his box of a room 
and threw them into the farthest corner. 

The next morning Ruth, feeling better, 
but so white and languid that to look at her 
face made Nat’s loving heart ache, was sit- 
ting near the window looking out at the 
falling snow and the passers-by. Her face 
brightened as she saw Nat’s bright face and 
answered his smile. 

“The old woman who lives in the skies 
is giving her feather bed a good shaking 
this morning,” he said cheerily, throwing 
off his overcoat and warming his hands by 
the stove, so as to be able to approach his 
sister. 

“ Ruth,” he said a moment later as she 


RUTH AND NAT. 


199 


reached out her hand and he took it, I 
gave Rose Chandler her dry goods, and 
told her you were sick, but I don’t believe 
the news broke her heart, for if she felt any 
sympathy it must have been swallowed up 
in this question: ‘Will Ruth be able to do 
another set of under-clothes within the next 
two weeks ?’ I suppose my eyes must 
have snapped when I answered her, ‘ No, 
Miss Rose ; she won’t be able to do them 
in two weeks, or two months, or two years, 
or ever, I don’t believe for she said, very 
snappishly, ‘Very well; I supposed Ruth 
wanted all the work she could get; I can 
get some one else very easily.’ ” 

“ Oh, Nat !” There was real grief ex- 
pressed in Ruth’s voice and eyes as she 
spoke. 

“Ruthie, don’t fret over what I’ve said; 
you can live without help from Rose Chan- 
dler. It made me so mad to think, after I 
had told her you had fainted and everything, 
she didn’t even say she was sorry. Hate- 
ful thing!” 

Ruth laughed — she could not help it — 
although she feared Rose Chandler would 


200 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS, 

never patronize her again. “ Nat,” she 
said, “ if she wasn’t sorry you wouldn’t have 
her say she was, would you ?” 

“ No, I don’t know as I would, though, as 
far as she’s concerned, I believe if she were 
to make anything by telling a fib, the fib 
wouldn’t be lacking. She’s a regular Hot- 
tentot, or she’d pity you. Well, perhaps 
the wheel will turn around for her some 
day ; then she’ll find out how pleasant it is 
to be down in a rut.” 

“ It’s something new for you to complain. 
What has come over you, Nat? Who is in 
a rut?” 

“There’s nothing particular come over 
me. I can’t endure to see Rose Chandler, 
who was once your intimate friend, turn a 
cold shoulder — I don’t believe she has a 
warm one, though, unless it’s a shoulder of 
roast lamb — at you. Were in a rut of 
course — a rut of poverty, and you are sick.” 
Nat’s lips quivered slightly as he turned 
his face aside. 

“ But I’m better,” Ruth said comfortingly. 
“ And if you call our little room a rut, I 
think a rut is a very pleasant thing.” 


RUTH AND NAT. 


201 


“Well, the stove looks pleasant, and so 
do the plants and things, but one can’t eat 
them, or your bed either,” Nat said grimly. 

“Are you so hungry that you want to 
eat the bed?” asked Ruth, roguishly. 

“No, I’m not exactly starving, but, Ruth, 
I was thinking of you ; you scarcely ate a 
mouthful of breakfast, and it was because 
you didn’t have anything you wanted.” 

“Who enlightened you, Nat?” 

“I’m not blind, and I don’t wear blue 
glasses, so I can see something when there’s 
something to be seen. Good-bye, Ruth.” 

Nat strode out of the house and down 
the street in search of work. Fortunately, 
he met a weary-looking man who had lost 
his way and was glad of Nat’s offer to 
carry, his satchel to the hotel where he was 
registered. The traveler was generous too, 
and gave him a quarter, which Nat almost 
immediately exchanged for some delicacies 
for Ruth. 

“God must care something for a poor 
fellow, after all, for he answered my prayer,” 
he thought as he returned home rapidly. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

MISS B LOOMIS BABY. 

AT, who is that sobbing outside of 



the door? It sounds like little Ella 


Gage.” 


“ It is Ella Gage,” Nat answered ; she’s 
crying because her mother is going to Mrs. 
Hallock’s to do a day’s cleaning. She says 
her ‘leg aches dreadful’ and she ‘don’t 
want to stay at home alone.’ ” 

“ Poor little thing !” Ruth said pityingly. 
“ Bring her in here, Nat ; perhaps she’d 
like to stay with me.” 

“ Oh, of course she’d like to stay with 
you, but you see it isn’t advisable. Dr. 
Minturn said you were to rest, and you 
couldn’t do it with that never-be-quiet-a- 
minute Ella Gage around. I say, she isn’t 
like the lame girls one reads about, gentle 
and sweet and all that, but she’s a regular 


202 


MISS B LOOMIS BABY. 


203 


little spitfire. I saw her throw her crutch 
as far as her hands could send it.” 

“ Fortunately, I’m not afraid of her tem- 
per, and if she tires me I will send her 
home ; that’s fair, isn’t it ? Pick up her 
crutch, Nat, that’s a dear boy, and bring 
her in.” 

Mrs. Gage followed her small daughter 
into Ruth’s little room. 

“ It’s good of you. Miss Ruth, to let my 
little lame girl come into your pretty room. 
She can be good if she wants to, and if she 
ain’t, just put her out into the street. She 
ain’t as sweet-tempered and patient as she 
might be, else she wouldn’t take on so 
whenever I’m a-leavin’ for a day’s washin’ 
or cleanin.’ Good-mornin’, Miss Ruth. — 
Good-bye, Ellie. You’ll find your dinner 
put under the basin on the three-legged 
table.” 

Ella, with a faint flush creeping into her 
pale cheeks, looked around the room and 
then at Ruth admiringly. 

“What is it, child?” Ruth asked. 

“ I wish I could live with you.” 

“ Why?” 


204 the blakes and the blooms. 

’Cause you’re so pretty, an’ your room’s 
so pretty too.” 

“ It’s best to try to live contentedly where 
God has put us.” 

“ He’d no need to put me in such a room 
as ours; it’s down cellar, an’ it’s dark, an’ 
the floor is cold, an’ we haven’t any chairs 
fit for a dog — there’s one without any legs, 
an’ an old hard one with a broken back that 
hurts me so — an’ we ain’t got any pictures 
or flowers or anything much, and ma goes 
out washin’ and scrubbin’.” 

Ella’s complaints awoke a train of 
thought that caused Ruth almost to forget 
her for a while: “It’s human nature, all the 
world over, I do believe. Here’s poor 
little Ella envying us, and Nat envying 
Rose Chandler, and Rose Chandler envying 
Louise Cheney because Louise has gone to 
Europe, and I’ve no doubt Louise envies 
somebody else who posesses something she 
does not, and — ” 

“ This is a soft chair,” said Ella, recalling 
Ruth’s wandering thoughts. “ Is it Nat’s ?” 

“Yes, that is Nat’s chair; it was father’s 
once, and Nat loves it,” Ruth answered. 


MISS BLOOM'S BABY. 


205 


looking over to where the child sat in com- 
fort. “ Now that you are comfortable, shall 
I tell you a bit of a story, Ella ?” 

“Yes, ma’am, please do.” 

“You remember what I told you once 
about God?” 

“ ’Bout his being’ our Father an’ lovin’ 
us ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I remember what you said, but I don’t 
believe he loves me.” 

“ Why don’t you believe it ?” 

“’Cause he don’t give me nothin’ much, 
an’ I’m awful hungry an’ cold ’most all the 
time.” 

The little closet that held Ruth’s provis- 
ions had but very little in it, but she went 
to it quickly, cut a slice of bread from the 
brown loaf there, and, spreading it with 
jam, gave it to Ella. 

“ Oh, thank you ; how good you are !” 
the child said after taking a mouthful. 

“Your Father gave it to you.” 

“ Ma’am ?” 

“ Your Father, whom you thought did not 
love you, gave you that.” 


206 the slakes and the blooms. 

“ But ’twas you gave the bread to me, 
Miss Ruth.” 

“ My Father told me to.” 

“ I can’t see him,” said Ella, thoroughly 
mystified. 

“ Neither can I, but he whispered to me, 

‘ Here’s one of my lambs ; her name is Ella 
Gage ; give her something nice to eat.’” 

“ That was awful good of him : may be 
he does love me, after all.” 

“I’m sure he loves you, Ella. He gave 
his Son to die for you and then Ruth with 
eager voice told the old, old story, and Ella, 
listening, said at its close, 

“Then if God’s Son hadn’t any place to 
lay his head, I oughtn’t to be ugly an’ find 
fault ’cause I have to live in a cellar an’ 
can’t have nice things, ought I ?” 

“ No, dear, you ought not. It’s hard to 
be lame, and to have pain and carry a 
crutch, and I find it hard to be poor and 
sick, but when it’s God’s will we ought not 
to fret over it.” 

“Wouldn’t you fret if you were poor?” 

“I am poor; we don’t even own this 
little room and the closet where Nat sleeps; 


MISS B LOOMIS BABY. 


207 


the few things that are in them are all we 
own.” 

Nat came in just then in a state of joyful 
excitement : 

“ I oughtn’t to be glad that there’s been 
a fire, Ruth, but I ’most believe I am, see- 
ing no one’s hurt and I’ve found some work. 
Promise me you won’t sew a stitch while 
I’m gone, Ruth.” 

“ Tell me what you are going to do, first.” 

“ Help a man who keeps a bookstore. 
You see, he tumbled his books all out in the 
street, ’cause the store was on fire, but the 
engines put the fire out in a twinkling. But 
such a messy, sloppy store ! I’m going to 
help clear up. Don’t worry if I’m gone a 
good while. Good-bye, Ruth.” 

While Nat is helping the bookseller to 
clean out the wet cases, wiping the floor 
and arranorinof the books in such tasteful 
order as to gain the admiration of his tem- 
porary employer, we will call upon some of 
our old friends in this same city, whom we 
have not seen since summer passed away. 

Such a merry laugh as issued from Miss 


208 the slakes and the blooms. 

Bloom’s lips caused Kathie to drop her sew- 
ing quickly and run to the back door, where 
her aunt stood, to inquire, “What’s the 
fun ?” 

“ Here’s a baby, Kathie ; the woman 
wants to know if we will take it.” 

“Shure, an’ some one wid a woman’s 
heart in her breast must take the little 
thing when its own mother is a-dyin’.” 
The woman did not speak resentfully, but 
rather deprecatingly. 

“Ah, that alters the case — the mother 
dying,” Miss Bloom said pityingly, all trace 
of laughter fading out of voice and eyes. 
“We couldn’t think of taking the baby, but 
step within the kitchen and tell me about 
the baby’s mother. Where is she ? who is 
she?” 

“‘Who is she?’ Well, she’s a pretty 
little thing with yellow hair an’ blue eyes, 
like me own girl that died long years ago. 
‘Where is she?’ Shure, an’ she’s hardly a 
stone’s throw off from your pretty home. 
Would ye be havin’ a bit of time to be a 
goin’ to her, me leddy ?” 

“Yes, certainly I’ll go ; I’ll take the time 


MISS B LOOMIS BABY. 209 

to see a dying woman if she needs me. — ■ 
Get my bonnet and shawl, Kathie, please.'’ 

Kathie brought the wraps, but as she 
gathered the shawl about her aunt she 
whispered impatiently, “ Do, for goodness’ 
sake. Aunt Hannah, say no to the next beg- 
gar who comes along, I do believe you 
would go home with a chimney-sweep or a 
bootblack if one should come after you 
with some trumped-up story.” 

“A trumped-up story would not lead me 
out, but if the bootblack should really need 
me, doubtless I should respond. Don’t be 
cross, Kathie ; I will soon return and with 
a smile at Kathie, and another directed to- 
ward the poor woman waiting for her, she 
followed the latter a little way down the 
street through an alley to a tenement- 
house. In a small, dark room in the sec- 
ond story lay the baby’s mother ; evidently 
her days, if not hours, were numbered. 
The room was extremely close, the one 
little window fastened so tightly to keep 
out the cold that no breath of fresh air 
could come in. 

Here’s a dear leddy, the only one as 

14 


210 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

was willin’ to bother to come an’ see you,” 
was the introduction she received to the 
pale young mother, who looked up pleading- 
ly into her face and extended a hand so 
white and frail that the visitor touched it 
but lightly, as if fearful of crushing it. 

“ I am glad to see you ; you are very 
kind,” the mother said, gratefully, but 
feebly. 

“You are very sick; you need kindness, 
my poor girl,” Miss Bloom said tenderly. 
“What can I do for you ?” 

The tenderness almost overcame the 
invalid, but she choked back some tears 
with great effort, and said, “I’m sure I’m 
’most to the end, but somehow it doesn’t 
seem as if I could die and leave my little 
baby behind.” 

“The Lord will provide for it.” 

“ But he doesn’t provide for it. I pray 
night and day that he will, but no one will 
take it. — Bring my baby to me, Mrs. Mulli- 
gan. — Mrs. Mulligan would take it if she 
were able, but she’s poor, and has a baby 
of her own.” 

“ There are large Homes devoted to the 


M7SS BLOOM’S BABY. 


21 1 


care of just such little helpless ones as 
yours; doubtless one of them will take 
your baby in.” 

“ My head has given out, I guess,” the 
sick woman said wearily ; “ I have never 
even thought of the Children’s Homes, but 
1 have prayed that some one in this wide 
world would want my little baby. I could 
die happy if I could only think some one 
would love and care for my baby after I 
am gone.” 

“ I have a friend much interested in such 
cases as yours; I will see him in regard to 
your baby if you would like to have me,” 
Miss Bloom said, hoping to comfort the 
mother. 

One of Mrs. Mulligan’s children came to 
the door to call her mother. “ Come, mam- 
my,” she said ; “ the baby is screamin’ for 
you.” 

The message was almost superfluous, for 
all in the room now heard distinctly the 
howling of an impatient baby, who no doubt 
considered it his mother’s duty to give him 
her personal attention and leave the sick 
woman’s baby alone. 


212 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

Mrs. Mulligan went over to the wall, 
picked up a small stone, and, laying it on 
the bed beside the invalid, said, “ Call whin- 
iver ye want me,” and then went out. 

• “ Mrs. Mulligan is as good as gold, God 

bless her !” said the baby’s mother. “ It 
takes all my strength to throw this stone, 
but when I throw it against that thin par- 
tition over there she hears it, and always 
comes if she can, and if she can’t she sends 
one of her little girls. I am very thankful 
to her, and I am to you for offering to be- 
friend my baby. If you will find it a home 
I will ask God to bless you with my last 
breath, but I cannot part with her while I 
live.” Then, with a searching, beseeching 
look into the face bending over her, she 
said, “It would be too much to ask of you, 
dear lady, to take my little one as your 
own — I’ve no right to expect such a thing, 
and don’t — but you look so tender, just as 
if you could love a baby very much.” 

Tears were in Miss Bloom’s eyes and in 
her voice as she said, “Yes, I could love a 
baby — I’m quite sure of that — but I’m a 
single woman and know nothing about the 


M/SS BLOOM'S BABY, 


213 


care of babies. Your little one is very del- 
icate, is it not?” glancing at the pale pinch- 
ed face, as emaciated as its mother’s, now 
for the first time uncovered to her view. 

“She isn’t strong — you see, she couldn’t 
be with no one to take proper care of her, 
and with this fetid atmosphere coming up 
from all parts of the house — but she might 
be strong and lively if she could get out of 
all this into some fresh, sweet place where 
there are pure smells and cool breezes.” 

The mother, who in her excitement had 
talked too much for her strength, now be- 
came quiet and breathed heavily, and the 
baby began to moan. 

“The child is hungry, I think; where is 
its food?” Miss Bloom inquired. 

“ Right there behind you, on the little 
shelf ; will you give me the bottle, please ?” 

But even the bottle did not quiet the 
child; it moaned pitifully, and over its 
mother’s face there crept a distressed look. 

“ Perhaps I ought to give her up now if 
they will take her at the Home ; but, oh, I 
would so like to see her until the last! I 
had a physician to-day, and he said I might 


214 the b lakes and the blooms. 

live a week and I might pass away at any 
moment.” 

After thinking a little wdiile quietly, Miss 
Bloom said, “ I have a woman now sleep- 
ing in my shed-chamber at night, who, I 
think, would be willing to care for your baby 
while you live and bring it over for you to 
see every day. She is an unfortunate per- 
son, but a good one. Her husband has de- 
serted her, and only two days ago she 
buried her babe. Several years ago she 
was my laundress, and I know her to be 
a gentle, kindly soul. I will go home and 
consult with her about caring for the babe, 
and I will send her to you with some little 
lunch that you may like.” 

The sick woman raised herself slightly. 
There was a flush on her cheek and an in- 
tense look in her eyes as she said, “ Oh, my 
good friend, I thank you from the depths 
of my soul. God bless you for ever!” 



“ The new buby is very sick, Jack.” 


Page 215 








CHAPTER XVII. 

DANIEL CUTLER^S NEW CLERN. 

UMMER has come again with bright- 



wZy ness and warmth and beauty, but also 
with pitiless heat for thousands of tired and 
toiling people. 

“ The new baby is very sick, Jack,” sadly^ 
announced Daniel Cutler one morning. “ I 
hope he ain’t goin’ to follow precious little 
Tim into the other world.” 

“ I hope not, sir,” Jack responded sympa- 
thetically. “ I wish we could get all our 
sick ones out into the country.” 

‘‘And I wish so too. We had two doc- 
tors to our house to-day — Dr. Minturn and 
Dr. Gay — and they both said the same : ‘ Ef 
you only was out in the country with that 
baby there’d be more hope.’ Dr. Gay, 
though he felt anxious, tried to joke me. 
He said, ‘ Mr. Cutler, you be a-gettin’ ahead 


215 


2i6 the b lakes and the blooms. 

in the world ; youdl have to be a-look- 
in’ for a country-seat for your family afore 
long.’ Jokin’ he was, but, jokin’ or not, I 
wish I did have a country-place, if ’twan’t 
more’n a box or a shed, ’cause we could 
live out-doors, ye see, an’ the hull raft of 
them boys could be a- rollin’ on green grass, 
an’ drinkin’ good honest milk, and gettin’ 
health an’ strength. Whew ! what a hot 
mornin’ ! The air seems to blister one. 
Wonder what our boys would say if they 
could be where fresh breezes blow an’ 
where the sweet smell comes from new- 
mown hay? I guess they’d think they’d 
reached heaven, an’ the hull raft of ’em 
would be lookin’ ’round for blessed little 
Tim. But they wouldn’t find him,” chuck- 
led Daniel. “ If they stay here through 
this hot summer, mebbe some of ’em will 
find little Tim, ’specially the little baby.” 

“ I hope they won’t find little Tim for long 
years to come, sir. But I’d like to know 
that they were all in the country. Miss 
Bloom would like to be there too. She’d 
like a little house in the suburbs if she were 
sure she could find all the work she needed. 


DANIEL CUTLER'S NEW CLERK. 21 / 

She doesn’t intend to rent the place where 
she now is again, and if she goes into the 
country she’s going to take Gertie and Tom. 
Gertie seems to be growing weak since the 
hot weather came on. She’s lost her appe- 
tite too, and goes about as if she were hunt- 
ing for something that she couldn’t find.” 

“Poor little thing!” Daniel Cutler said, 
sympathetically. “I s’pose she is huntin’ for 
something she can’t find; mebbe she’s 
lookin’ for roses an’ listenin’ for birds’ 
songs. Pity she can’t find ’em 1” 

“ Pa, come home ; the baby’s tuk worse.” 
It was one of the “ raft of boys” who 
brought the message, and his father took 
his hand and walked homeward with hur- 
ried strides. Dr. Gay met him on the 
threshold, and to him the anxious father 
said, “You ain’t goin’ to let the little fellow 
follow after little Tim, are you, doctor?” 

“ No, my good friend — not if I can help 
it ; but the baby will never pull through the 
summer if you keep him here in this little, 
hot house.” 

“ I’ll find another place afore I’m a day 
older if I can,” Daniel Cutler said decidedly. 


2 I 8 the b lakes and the blooms. 

Before the week was out Daniel Cutler’s 
old mother, his wife and his “ raft of boys” 
had left their little, close city house, and 
were pleasantly situated in a small new 
house in the suburbs. The ‘Tittle un,” as 
his happy father called him, had begun to 
pick up the moment he reached his new 
abode, to which he had been taken on a 
pillow in the arms of his mother. The 
whole family had been carried to within a 
stone’s throw of their cottage in a horse- 
car, and they had made things lively for the 
other passengers. 

“You see, I can get home as easy, now 
that we live out here, as I could when we 
was in t’other house. I’ve only to git on 
the horse-car an’ ride like a gentleman to 
my country-seat,” said Daniel Cutler, laugh- 
ing. 

As Jack had told his employer, Miss 
Bloom had been making inquiries for a 
home in the country. Just a few days after 
the Cutlers had settled down to their new 
life Dr. Gay brought good news to Miss 
Bloom : 

“There is an old-fashioned farm-house 


DANIEL CUTLERS S NEW CLERIC. 219 

not far from Daniel Cutler’s in the suburbs 
— Newtonville they call the place. A Mr. 
Blake owns it, and it has no tenant at pres- 
ent. He gave me permission to find one 
for him, and, furthermore, he says that he 
will rent it cheap, as it is somewhat out of 
repair and he can’t give it a regular over- 
hauling until another year.” 

“Is it a healthy spot?” 

“ Indeed it is ; you’ll get roses in your 
cheeks if you go out there.” 

“ I shall not object to the roses in my 
cheeks,” Miss Bloom said, laughingly, “ but 
I long to see them in some young cheeks 
I know of.” 

“ Now, see here,” the doctor said, scowl- 
ing : “ I thought you wanted to get into 
the country to rest?” 

“So I do.” 

“And you are quite sure you don’t think 
of opening an orphan asylum out there, are 
you ?” 

“ Quite sure.” 

“None of the Hepburn tribe, not one?” 

“ Oh yes ; certainly I shall take Gertie 
and Tom. Gertie needs building up, and 


220 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 


Tom needs toning down ; so, you see, I 
must take them.” 

“ Why do you show partiality ? Why not 
take the whole lot?” the doctor growled. 

“ Fd dearly love to take them all ; indeed. 
Jack looks thin, and so does Dora, brave 
little workers that they are ! They would 
be the better for a summer in the country.” 

“ Why don’t you take them, then ? Put 
out a shingle: ‘All orphans taken in, irre- 
spective of age, birth, color or nationality' ?” 

Miss Bloom laughed merrily. Then she 
said seriously, “ I will be greatly obliged to 
you, doctor, if you will find out about the 
rent, and if there would be a possibility of 
my getting plenty of work, and if,” with a 
mischievous look, “ there is any prospect 
of outdoor work for Jack.” 

A couple of days afterward Jack entered 
the grocery with face aglow. “We’re go- 
ing to the country! hurrah! hurrah!” he 
said, throwing his hat up and catching it 
just in time to save it from dropping into a 
pail of molasses waiting for a customer. 

“ Cool down a few pegs, my boy. Who’s 
goin’ to the country?” 


DANIEL CUTLERS S NEW CLERK. 


221 


“All of us — Aunt Hannah, Kathie, Dora, 
Gertie, Torn, the baby, Polly, and I.” 

“Whew ! who be you goin’ to visit? Our 
folks ?” 

Jack laughed gleefully. “No, sir,” he 
said; “ weTe going to visit nobody. Aunt 
Hannah has rented a nice old farm-house 
somewhere out where you live. Did you 
ever see it?” 

“ I’ve seen a farm-house not far from us ; 
it’s owned by a Mr. John Blake. Is that the 
one ?” 

“Yes, sir; that’s the one. That’s where 
we are going.” 

“ Not the hull of you ? Miss Bloom ain’t 
a-goin’ to take the hull raft of you, and the 
baby besides, is she ?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Well, there’s no ’counting for what a 
woman’ll do. ‘ What she will she will, you 
may depend upon it, an’ what she won’t she 
won’t, an’ that’s the end on it.’ But you 
.ain’t goin’ to leave me. Jack, now that I’ve 
had you ’most a year, and am depending 
on you, be you ?” 

“No, sir,” answered Jack, his face flush- 


222 THE BLARES AND THE BLOOMS. 

ing. “ Miss Bloom says I’m not to leave 
unless you are willing. Fm to come every 
morning and go back every night, unless 
you can get some one you like to take my 
place.” 

“And if I can git some one, what then ?” 

“ I’m to stay with the rest, and help fix 
up the house, and work out of doors — plant 
potatoes and weed gardens, and other 
things.” 

“ ’Twould do you good, ’twould do you 
good,” honest Daniel Cutler said; “but, 
Jack, I can’t see how I can ever spare you. 
You’ve got very near to me, Jack. I love 
you, even if I have a hull raft of boys at 
home.” 

“ I’m much obliged to you, sir,” said Jack, 
a pleased look on his bright face, “ and I’ll 
not leave you until you are willing.” 

But the Ruler of all things did not forget 
Jack’s desire to get into the country. That 
very night, as Daniel Cutler sat at the 
family board, he said, 

“We’re goin’ to have neighbors in the 
old farm-house. Miss Bloom is cornin’, 
and all the Hepburns.” 


DANIEL CUTLER'S NEW CLERK. 223 

“ Do tell ! Well, I’m glad of that,” said 
Mrs. Cutler junior ; “but Jack’ll stay in the 
grocery, all the same ; you couldn’t get 
along without Jack, could you ?” 

“ Not very well, not very well ; no, I 
can’t see how I’m goin’ to do without him, 
though he wants to stay and work out here, 
I’m sure of that.” 

“ I know a boy that I believe you’d like 
as well as Jack Hepburn,” said Mrs. Cutler 
senior. 

“Who is it, mother?” asked her son re- 
spectfully, although, if the truth must be 
told, he thought she must be dreaming. 

“ Nathan Millard.” 

“ What ! Nat, the pretty Ruth’s brother ?” 

“ Yes, Nat. There ain’t a better boy to 
be found for love or money. Try Nat, 
Daniel, if Jack wants to go.” 

“ I will, mother, as sure as my name’s 
Daniel Cutler. Nat’s another boy without 
father an’ mother, an’ the father of a hull 
raft of boys ought to give him a lift when 
he needs it.” 

But when Nat, in response to a message 
from Daniel Cutler, stood before him, he 


224 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

was rather troubled in regard to his looks. 
Looking at his patched and threadbare 
clothes, the grocer said, “You will have to 
put on your best clothes, I guess, if you 
want to be a clerk. I don’t s’pose your 
best ones be any too good, be they?’' 

“ These clothes are my best and my 
worst, sir ; they’re all I have,” Nat said, 
looking up with such an honest, open face 
that his employer was touched. 

“Well! well! they’ll do, then, for the 
present, an’ you can earn better ones. After 
all, honest folks an’ sensible ones ’ll care 
more for your face than for your clothes.” 

And Daniel was right. The old cus- 
tomers, who had become attached to Jack, 
were now interested in Nat. One old gen- 
tleman, a farmer who had had much trouble 
with his hired help, said to the grocer, 

“Well, Daniel, you seem to get hold of 
the best boys, somehow.” 

“Yes, I’ve been fortunate for a good 
while past. You see, I haven’t been bother- 
ed with the hit-or-miss kind, a-driftin’ round 
loose, not knowin’ who’s their captain or 
where they be bound fer; but my boys be 


DANIEL CUTLERS S NEW CLERK. 225 

on the Lord’s side. Ye see, Jack could be 
trusted, an’ so can Nat, ’cause they’ve got 
a Captain a-steerin’ fer them, an’ every big 
wave that come along don’t pull ’em down, 
but uplifts ’em. Ye’ll never see ’em sneakin’ 
’round trapdoors leadin’ down to wrong 
ways ; they know better.” 

Yes, Jack and Nat knew better, because 
they loved God and right ways. As Wat- 
son says : “ To attempt to serve God with- 
out love is like rowing against the tide. 
But love oils the wheels and makes duty 
sweet. The angels are swift-winged in 
God’s service, because they love him. Love 
is never weary.” 

15 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

IN THE COUNTRY. 

“ Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear — 

Your head like the golden-rod — 

And we will go sailing away from here 
To the beautiful land of Nod — 

• “ Away from life’s worry and hurry and flurry, 

Away from earth’s shadows and gloom ; 

We will float off together to a world of fair weather, 

Where blossoms are always in bloom.” 

I T was Kathie’s voice singing the baby 
to sleep. “What baby?” you ask. 
Why, the baby whose mother had died in 
the close little tenement-room next to Mrs. 
Mulligan’s. 

“And was Miss Bloom foolish enough to 
adopt it?” you ask. Well, I will tell you 
just how it was. Polly, the woman who 
slept in the shed-chamber, nursed the baby 
for a week before its mother closed her eyes 
in the sleep that knows no waking in this 
world. She carried it over every day for 
226 


IN THE COUNTRY. 


227 


its mother to see, and a deep joy over- 
spread the dying woman’s face as she saw 
how clean the little one was kept, and how 
a faint color was creeping into the little 
wan cheeks. She saw too how Polly seem- 
ed to love her baby; it had crept into her 
bosom, as if to comfort her for the loss of 
her own wee one. To her heavenly Father 
she prayed importunately that this home in 
which Polly lived, with its tender and lovely 
mistress at its head, would prove a fold for 
her own little tender lamb. And the all- 
pitiful One heard her earnest prayer, and 
answered it. Miss Bloom had fully intend- 
ed taking the child to an orphan asylum as 
soon as its mother needed it no more, but 
when the time came the little innocent six- 
months-old babe had crept into her heart 
as well as into Polly’s. Polly wanted to 
stay as a servant and nurse, so Miss Bloom 
kept her and kept the baby ; and now the 
baby was a year old, and she would have 
.as soon thought of rending away her own 
right arm as to part with the baby. As for 
the baby, it was a fine child, plump and fair, 
with great blue eyes and golden hair. 


228 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS, 

As Kathie’s lullaby floated out upon the 
evening air the birds seemed to echo it ; 
they twittered sweetly, lingeringly, “ Good- 
night, good-night,” or so it seemed to blind 
Gertie, who sat with folded hands listening 
to Kathie’s cradle-song. She wondered if 
the flowers were not nodding drowsily ; 
were they going to sleep now ? She 
guessed they were ; indeed, she felt a little 
sleepy herself, and she was thinking of her 
mother. Miss Bloom, who was sewing, 
noticing the look on the young face, threw 
down her work and said, “ I shall sew no 
more to-night; twilight is spreading her 
protecting wings over a weary world, and I 
want to spread my wings over some one. — 
Come, Gertie darling, to my arms.” And 
the blind girl came with a glad cry, and they 
talked of the joys of their new home. 

To Miss Bloom the old farm-house was a 
constant delight. What a haven of rest it 
seemed to her, compared with the little 
close rooms in the city ! There was not a 
blind upon it, but so little sun had crept into 
the city home that this fact was decidedly 
in its favor. Climbing plants were trained 


IN THE COUNTRY. 


229 


to grow over all of the windows where cur- 
tains were not desired. In front of the 
house was a large yard overgrown v/ith 
rank grass, plentifully sprinkled with weeds. 

^‘Jack dear,” Miss Bloom said, “you’ll 
have hard work to mow this the first time, 
but after that it will be easy to keep it 
down, and pretty soon we’ll have a lawn 
like green velvet.” 

Jack laughed: “It won’t be my fault. 
Aunt Hannah, if it fails to suit you. I’ll do 
my best to make it a smooth lawn, and I’ll 
trim these lilacs and roses beside the door 
until you won’t know them.” 

“ But, Jack, what do you know about 
trimming flowers?” 

“ I’ve watched Rick Blake a number of 
times, and one day he let me help.” 

Jack was up at five the next morning; so 
was Miss Bloom. They went out into the 
dewy yard, where Miss Bloom was almost 
holding her breath with awe as Jack came 
up to her. The east was aflame with crim- 
son and gold, heralding the glorious sun- 
rise, and birds were singing and chirping 
as if in ecstasy over the dawn of day. 


230 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

“ Oh, this thrilling concert ! and free too, 
Jack ! What a Father is ours !” 

“I understand now, Aunt Hannah, if 
never before, what mamma meant when she 
left us in the Lord’s hands,” Jack said earn- 
estly. “ What friends he has given us ! 
And, Aunt Hannah, before the summer is 
over I’ll try to prove to you that I appreci- 
ate all your goodness.” 

“ Don’t try, Jack dear ; I know already. 
God has been very good to me too. Jack. 
Just see the children he has given to me, 
who would be a lonely, unloved old maid 
but for them. Oh, there’s Polly ! — You’re 
up early, Polly.” 

“ Going to mix my bread,” answered 
Polly, cheerily. 

“And I must be at work too; I’ll dust 
the dining-room.” 

The dining-room was also the living- 
room in the farm-house ; it was low and 
broad and delightful. It had an old-fash- 
ioned fireplace, which Miss Bloom left open, 
setting a large jar in the centre which was 
daily filled with fresh flowers. Upon the 
floor she laid a new matting, and at the 


IN THE COUNTRY. 


231 


quaint, square, small-paned windows she 
hung linen shades of apple-green. 

But although the house was prettily and 
tastefully arranged — on an economical scale, 
however — from top to bottom, the out-door 
world was the grand field of attraction. 
Jack worked so steadily at every task given 
him that Miss Bloom frequently drove him 
off on a pleasure excursion of a couple of 
hours’ length. 

One day he and Dora returned from one 
of these trips in a state of great exhilara- 
tion. 

“ What did you see ?” questioned Gertie. 

“We saw everything, I do believe,” ex- 
claimed Jack, excitedly. 

“ Did you shoot any deer?” asked Kathie, 
laughing. 

“ No, there are no deer around here, but 
when I learn to shoot we’ll have broiled 
partridges and squirrel pies. Rick shot two 
partridges for his sick mother. We saw 
some woodchucks too, and chipmunks.” 

“But we saw prettier creatures than 
those,” Dora said, her face glowing — “ the 
sweetest birds in the world. Rick Blake told 


232 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

US their names — yellow-birds and thrushes, 
robins and bluebirds. Oh, the darlings 

“At the head of a rocky hollow is a 
spring. The water tastes so good there, 
and it’s as clear as crystal, bubbling right 
out of the rock. Don’t you want to go 
and see it to-morrow, Kathie ?” Jack asked. 

“ Indeed I do, but I’ll warn you now that 
I can’t go to see every pretty spot you de- 
scribe, else what would become of the sew- 
ing?” 

“ Bother the sewing !” said Jack. “ Oh, 
Kathie, I wish I were rich : I wouldn’t let 
you and Aunt Hannah ever take another 
stitch.” 

Ignoring the topic of sewing, Dora said, 
“ And there are beautiful ferns growing in 
the crevices of the rocks by the spring, 
Kathie — such beautiful ones ! Rick calls 
them ‘ maiden’s hair.’ ” 

The following day, according to promise, 
Kathie went with the children to the spring, 
and admired it to their intense satisfaction. 
She gathered some ferns and wild flowers, 
and then returned to her work with 
ed zest. 


renew- 


IN THE COUNTRY. 


233 


“ I’m going to hoe that corn over there 
for Mr. Blake this afternoon,” said Jack, 
pointing to a field. 

“You’ll have a hot time; I pity you.” 

Kathie spoke in earnest, but Jack laughed 
as he took off his broad-brimmed hat and 
displayed some big cabbage-leaves. “ My 
head won’t wilt, you see,” he said. 

In a deep hole in the tumbledown arbor 
Dora found a bluebird’s nest. She did not 
disturb it, but ran to tell Miss Bloom the 
news. Looking into the child’s bright face. 
Miss Bloom caught and shared her happi- 
ness as she said, “ Ah, my dear, you’ll find 
the bluebirds’ nests all about this old place ; 
they love to make their homes in the holes 
of those old trees.” 

“ Oh, I’m so glad ! Hear that one sing- 
ing ! Doesn’t it seem as if he loved us ?” 
Dora asked joyfully. 

“Yes, it really does,” smiled Miss Bloom; 
“and how fully we can realize here how 
.much our Creator loves us when he gives 
us these songsters ! There, Dora, on that 
old fence-rail is a song-sparrow — a charm- 
ing bird.” 


234 the slakes and the blooms. 

“ He isn’t as pretty as my bluebird,” 
Dora replied, true to her first love. 

“No, not so pretty, with his sober little 
brown coat; but pretty is as pretty does, 
even with birds — eh, Dora? Hear that 
cheery music. Did you ever hear a more 
winsome song?” 

“No, never,” Dora confessed, listening 
to the sparrow’s clear, sweet song trilling 
with intricate beauty. “ Oh, the darling !” 
she said, folding and unfolding her hands 
in her enjoyment. “I wonder how many 
more beautiful birds there are about this 
place ?” 

“ A great many, without a doubt, as there 
usually are about all such old country-places. 
Toward evening I will have time to tell you 
about them.” 

In the dim twilight Miss Bloom, with one 
arm around Gertie and her other arm rest- 
ing upon Jack’s shoulder, was sitting on the 
old back piazza. “ Now for a description 
of the birds, I suppose,” she said. “Hark! 
there is one now over in the field and, 
listening, they heard a sweet-voiced singer 
giving his evening hymn. “ That is a ves- 


IN THE COUNTRY. 


235 


per sparrow, and it is said that he never 
fails to lift up his voice as the evening 
shades draw near. He sets us a lovely ex- 
ample, dear little brown bird !” 

“ I saw a bird that I liked down by the 
stream when I went fishing with the Blake 
boys ; it was of a bluish-gray color, and so 
saucy-looking ! Its song was so funny too 
— not like this dear little vesper sparrow, 
but full of queer notes, odd little trills and 
trembles,” Jack said. 

“ That was a catbird ; you’ll often see 
numbers of them hovering around streams 
and swampy grounds.” 

“ I seed the sweetest birds ; I fed ’em 
some crumbs by the back door,” asserted 
Tom, who had been rolling on the grass, 
and no one supposed listening to the con- 
versation. 

“ Those were chipping-birds ; they are 
very common and very sociable.” 

“ An’ they wear red caps,” asserted Tom. 

So they do ; they are regular little red- 
heads.” 

What kind of a bird is a thrush ?” ask- 
ed Jack. 


236 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

“ There is a thrush called the hermit ; it 
clings to the lonely woods ; but there is 
another kind of thrush you will see often 
during the summer flitting in the sunshine 
and singing wonderful songs ; it is brown, 
with gay russet back. — That was a thrush, 
Gertie dear, that you heard this morning 
from the top of the old apple tree.” 

“ There comes Tathie,” announced Tom, 
who, the family began to think, never would 
talk straight, “ an’ the Blake girls, an’ Rick 
an’ Jamie. Oh, ain’t I glad?” 

The rest were glad too, for the Blakes 
had shown themselves to be true friends 
to their new tenants. Rocking-chairs were 
brought out on the piazza for Lucy and 
Ethel, while Rick and Jamie, with Jack and 
little Tom, threw themselves upon the grass. 

“ How did you find Mrs. Dow, Kathie ?” 
asked Miss Bloom. 

“ Much better, and she was greatly 
obliged for the roses.” 

Mrs. Dow occupied a cottage next to 
Daniel Cutler’s and in full view of the farm- 
house. She was an elderly widow, and, 
with the exception of a colored woman- 


IN THE COUNTRY. 


237 


servant, lived alone. She had recently 
moved to Newtonville from some distant 
city. No one seemed to know much con- 
cerning her, except that she had bought 
the beautiful new cottage, the prettiest by 
far in Newtonville, intending to make it her 
permanent home. She attended no church 
and had courted no acquaintances, seeming 
to have lost interest in all things. As she 
had recently sprained one of her limbs, the 
Blakes and the Blooms had seized that op- 
portunity to do her some kindly services. 

“ She has a weary-looking and distressed 
face, but I think it is attractive,*’ said Lucy. 

“ It is attractive,” responded Miss Bloom, 
“ but it is the face of a woman who has gone 
through much trouble ; I hope we may be 
able to comfort her a little. — But she is still 
floundering in the dark,” Miss Bloom 
thought, although she kept that thought to 
herself, hoping that an opportunity would 
offer to befriend her, for she felt that Mrs. 
Dow needed friends as truly as the poor 
sufferers living in the vicinity of the old 
city home. 

There is a worse poverty than that of 


238 THE BLARES AND THE BLOOMS. 

money. Many with full pockets go through 
the world half famished for want of love 
and kindness. Sometimes they are to 
blame, sometimes they are to be pitied. 
Sowing seeds immortal, the “ kind words 
that never die,” is the legitimate work of 
all Christ’s followers. 

Gertie had slipped off to the kitchen as 
soon as the guests were seated. She now 
returned, making her way carefully, for fear 
of stumbling over some impediment, toward 
the group on the piazza, carrying a tray of 
fruit and flowers ; Polly came in the rear 
with a great pitcher of lemonade and 
glasses. As soon as the tray was resting 
in Miss Bloom’s lap Ethel lifted Gertie upon 
her knees and kissed her, for she was very 
fond of the poor blind child. 

“You have given us one treat, darling,” 
she said ; “ now give us another — a song, 
will you, please ?” 

Gertie was naturally timid, but Miss 
Bloom had taught her to respond at once 
to such requests if she intended to do so at 
all ; so in another moment her voice arose 
in a hymn of praise : 


IN THE COUNTRY. 


239 


« Sowing the seed by the daylight fair, 

Sowing the seed by the noonday glare, 
Sowing the seed by the fading light. 

Sowing the seed in the solemn night, — 

Oh, what shall the harvest be ? 

“ Sowing the seed by the wayside high. 
Sowing the seed on the rocks to die. 

Sowing the seed where the thorns will spoil, 
Sowing the seed in the fertile soil, — 

Oh, what shall the harvest be ? 

“ Sowing the seed of a lingering pain. 

Sowing the seed of a maddened brain, 
Sowing the seed of a tarnished name. 
Sowing the seed of eternal shame, — 

Oh, what shall the harvest be ? 

“ Sowing the seed with an aching heart. 
Sowing the seed while the teardrops start. 
Sowing in hope till the reapers come 
Gladly to gather the harvest home, — 

Oh, what shall the harvest be ? 

“ Sown in the darkness or sown in the light. 
Sown in our weakness or sown in our might, 
Gathered in time or eternity, — 

Sure, ah, sure, will the harvest be.’’ 


The song was finished. Ethel gave the 
child a hearty hug, saying, “You are the 
sweetest bird I ever heard sing.” 

The clear, sweet tones of Gertie had pen- 
etrated to the other homes. Knowing the 


240 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

words and hearing the tune, Dolly Varden 
said to Abe Linkun, “Now, you see, honey, 
yo’ want to stop a-sowin’ dem thorns an’ 
thissels you’re so fond of, else dere’ll be 
sich a harvest ob ’em dat dey’ll choke you 
to def, body an’ soul.” 

“Dat’s what I’se a-tinkin’ ob, mammy,” 
responded the young hopeful. “ I’se goin’ 
to sow good seed, I tell ye, sure’s my name 
is Abe Linkun. Whar d’ye s’pose dat Miss 
Gertie Hepburn come from ? I belieb she 
dropped right down from hebben — don’t 
you, mammy?” 

“No, I don’t s’pose any sech ting, but 
she’s bound for hebben ; an’ if yo’ is goin’ 
dere too, yo’ better be ’bout sowin’ some 
ob dat good seed right away.” 

Over at Daniel Cutler’s the younger of 
the “ raft of boys” were reposing serenely, 
but the older ones were hanging about him 
as he sat in his arm-chair in his doorway. 
He was listening intently to Gertie’s song. 
When her voice was hushed his eyes were 
misty and his heart very tender. 

“You want to begin now while you are 
little a-servin’ the King of heaven ; you can 


IN THE COUNTRY. 


241 


SOW some seeds every day,” he said to the 
boys. Then what a rousin’ harvest you’ll 
have after a while ! Mebbe mother calls 
ye when ye don’t want to come to take care 
of the little un ; go to her with a smilin’ face 
an’ be a nurse worth havin’. Then you’ll 
be sowin’ seeds, don’t ye see ? Mebbe 
ye’ve got some flowers fur that poor little 
Ellie Gage that lives down in the city in 
that hot little closet-room ; pick ’em for 
her and send ’em down by me, an’ then 
you’re sowin’ more seeds. You see, you 
can be a-sowin’ ’em all the time, day in and 
day out, an’ the more you sow the happier 
you’ll be an’ the bigger your heart ’ll be 
an’ your harvest.” 

Leaning back in her easy-chair near the 
open front window of her pretty parlor, sat 
Mrs. Dow with her injured limb resting 
upon a stool. She too heard Gertie’s child- 
ish, winsome voice ringing out upon the 
night air. What had she been sowing? 
“The seeds of lingering pain — those and 
nothing more,” she thought, with a touch 
of remorse. “ It will not be pleasant to 
gather my harvest; but what a harvest 
16 


242 THE BLAKE S AND THE BLOOMS. 

those young sowers over at the farm-house 
will gather some day !” 

She looked out of the window with a 
weary, wistful face, but it was too dark to 
see anything except the climbing rose peep- 
ing in at the window. The pretty fountain 
in her yard seemed to answer her thoughts; 
the sparkling water gurgled, “ Some day I 
some day.’’ 


CHAPTER XIX. 

DANIEL CUTLER'S CUP OF COLD WATERP 

“ Flooding the earth with brightness, 

Filling it all with light, 

Cometh the sun in splendor. 

Melting the shades of night, 

Waking the open blossoms 
Fresh from their dewy sleep. 

Glancing among the grasses 

Where the wild woodbines creep. 

“ Shining, and still unfolding 
Everything sweet and new. 

Silent, he marches onward. 

Noble and grand and true. 

Such be my life, O sunshine ! 

Seeking out by the way 
Things that are sweet and lovely, 

God-given day by day.” 

D aniel cutler’s “raft of boys” 

grew and thrived as never before; 
^ even the “little un” had no thought now of 
following “blessed little Tim.” He was 
getting to be a rollicking baby, full of fun 
and laughter, and enjoyed as much as did 

243 


244 the blakes and the blooms. 

any of the other little Cutlers his father’s 
queer antics while playing Jumbo for their 
edification. 

The improvement in his family was the 
source of constant thankfulness to Daniel. 
One morning, after the “little un” had eaten 
two bowls of bread and milk, his joy was 
so great that he went to his grocery in a 
very jubilant state of mind. The sunshine 
faded out of his face, however, as soon as 
he discovered Nat’s clouded one. 

“ Good-mornin’, my boy ; anything gone 
wrong?” he inquired kindly. 

Nat lifted a pair of very red eyes to his 
employer : 

“ It’s Ruth, sir,” he said ; “ it’s a weight 
on me day and night. She’s growing 
weaker and thinner; I can see that, though 
she don’t complain. Her face is as white 
as — as — ’most as white as a snowdrift, and 
she don’t eat enough to keep a kitten 
alive.” 

Daniel Cutler, for a wonder, did not try 
to comfort the boy just then. A customer 
came in, but he left him to Nat, and retired 
to the little room back of the grocery and 


CUTLERS S ^^CUP OF COLD WATERP 245 

sat down, with his head in his hands, to 
meditate. He had a habit when thinking 
seriously of talking aloud, and any one list- 
ening could have heard the following: 

“The pretty dear’s face, Nat says, is as 
white as a snowdrift ; by and by it’ll be as 
cold as a snowdrift ; that is, if there ain’t 
somethin’ done soon. If their father had 
lived, most likely things would have been 
different; but he didn’t live, an’ ’twas the 
Father’s doin’s, most likely. He knew what 
he was about when he left three children 
without an earthly father. Wasn’t it Jesus 
Christ who asked, ‘ Lovest thou me ?’ an’ 
said, if you do, ‘ Feed my lambs’ ? It was, 
as sure as my name’s Daniel Cutler. I 
ain’t a-goin’ agin his command, ef I know 
what I’m about. Ain’t I the father of a 
hull raft of boys? An’ can’t he call me 
away from ’em ef he chooses? Of course 
he can. An’ if he’s a-thinkin’ about sech a 
thing, don’t I want some one to be a-think- 
in’ of my boys ? An’ hadn’t I oughter do as 
I’d be done by? Of course I had. Let’s 
see; it don’t take a hull pail of water to 
revive a droopin’ plant, does it? It don’t 


246 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

take all the food away from your own folks 
just to give a bite to save a poor fellow 
from starvation. It don’t take a powerful 
sight of sunlight to set a rainbow in a cloud. 
It won’t take a terrible lot of effort to 
brighten Ruth’s life, an’ through hers Nat’s. 
God helpin’ us, our folks ’ll make that 
effort.” 

With this resolve Daniel Cutler arose, 
shook himself, slipped quietly out of the 
back door, hurried to the crossing to catch 
the cars going to Newtonville, and re-en- 
tered his home in less than an hour from 
the time he had left it. 

“ What on earth is the matter, Daniel ?” 
asked his mother, who saw him first. 

“ Do you want to hold out a rope to save 
a dyin’ girl?” 

“ For mercy’s sake, who’s drowning ?” 
asked his wife, excitedly. — “ Pull down the 
clothes-line, quick, Dick !” addressing her 
oldest child. 

Daniel Cutler shouted with laughter, 
much to his wife’s disgust. She had a quick 
temper, and she said crossly, “ If you’re try- 
ing to fool us, you’d better go back to the 


CUTLERS S <^CUP OF COLD WATERF 247 


Store. April-Fool Day has passed, and 
you’re the — ” 

Before she could finish her sentence her 
husband recovered himself. Still laughing, 
he said, “Don’t call names, Sallie; ’tain’t 
becomin’ to the mother of a hull raft of 
boys.” Then soberly he added, “ I do want 
a rope, but ’tain’t a clothes-line I’m a-han- 
kerin’ after ; it’s a kind of moral rope I’m 
a-thinkin’ of.” 

“ We never had such a thing. I ’most be- 
lieve you are fooling, after all,” Sallie Cut- 
ler said, searching her husband’s face to see 
what had come over him. 

“ It’s high time we did have one, then,” 
he answered soberly. “You know Ruth 
Millard, Sallie?” 

“ I don’t know her very well, though 
I’m ’most ashamed to say it ; she was dread- 
ful kind to us once.” 

“You know her, mother?” 

“ Indeed I do ; she’s a blessed girl, and 
Nat’s another — that is, he’s a blessed boy.” 

“ What I want to know is, are you willin’ 
to let that blessed girl come out here for a 
couple of weeks? She’s very poorly, an’ 


248 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

pinin' away in the shade, an’ I s’pose 
a-longin’ for green fields an’ clover-blos- 
soms an’ sunshine, an’, like as not, longin’ 
for a little trifle of pettin’ an’ carin’ for. I 
say, mother, Sallie, you’re the grandmother 
an’ the mother of a hull raft of boys, can’t 
you spare a little love for a poor lone child 
out in the cold, or, more properly speak- 
in’, down in the heat?” 

“ If you think the boys won’t be the death 
of her with their noise and pranks. I’ll be 
glad enough to have her come,” his mother 
answered, quite pleased at the suggestion. 

“ She can come and welcome,” his wife 
said, heartily, “ and stay, too, as long as she 
wants to. I never told you, Daniel, but 
’twas Ruth Millard who made that beauti- 
ful little white robe for blessed little Tim, 
and she wouldn’t take a cent for it, either, 
because she said mother had been so kind 
to her. And ’twas she who put those rose- 
buds in blessed little Tim’s hands. She 
cut them off her own bush.” 

“ She did, did she ? Bless her !” 


Nat! 


CUTLER'S **CUR OF COLD WATER." 249 

‘‘Sir?" 

“ When I go home to-night Fm goin’ to 
run away with your sister.” 

“ Sir?” 

“Fm goin’ to take Ruth with me, an’ 
keep her until she gets well an’ strong.” 

“Mr. Cutler, do you mean this?” Nat 
asked, grasping the honest grocer’s hands 
tightly and looking into his kindly eyes. 

“ Mean it ! Do I look as if I meant it ?” 

“ You do — oh, you do !” 

Nat had prayed earnestly for God to re- 
store his sister and to give her a place to 
rest, but Mr. Cutler’s offer was so unex- 
pected, it suggested such wonderful pictures, 
that he was almost overwhelmed with grati- 
tude. 

“ Don’t try to talk, Nat my boy,” Daniel 
Cutler said, feelingly. “Run home a few 
minutes and tell Ruth to be ready at six 
to go to Newton ville. Tell her she should 
fast a little to-day, for there’ll be a supper 
to-night worth eatin’, all in honor of her 
cornin’ — berries an’ fresh biscuit, an’ such 
milk ! D’ye s’pose that dear little sister ’ll 
like the taste of them things — say, d’ye ?” 


250 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

Nat grasped his employer’s hand furious- 
ly, and then ran out of the door to tell 
Ruth the joyful news. 

The following evening, just before sunset, 
Kathie Bloom returned from a tramp to the 
river and back, saying, “ There’s a beautiful 
girl sitting on Mr. Cutler’s piazza. Who 
do you suppose it is?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know,” answered her 
aunt, who was stitching industrously on her 
machine. “ How does she look ?” 

“ She has soft brown eyes with dark 
lashes and black hair. She must be sick, 
she is so very white, and looks as if a 
breeze might blow her away.” 

“ I know who she is,” said Jack, who had 
entered the house in time to hear Kathie’s 
description. “She’s Ruth Millard, Nat’s 
sister. Dick Cutler was just here ; that’s 
what I came into the house to tell. Dick 
says Ruth has come from a little hot room 
in the city, and she is going to stay until 
she gets strong and able to work again.” 

Meanwhile, the subject of this conversa- 
tion was enjoying the scene spread before 
her and waiting for Nat, who was coming to 


CUTLER'S ^*CUP OF COLD WATEKP 25 I 

Stay all night at the cottage, and was to 
turn in with some of the “raft of boys.” 
From her seat Ruth could see Miss Bloom’s 
farm-house, and Dolly Varden’s little cabin 
just beyond it, with Abe Lincoln perched 
upon its sloping roof To the east the 
river sparkled in the sunlight, and beyond 
the river the hills reached up to the heaven- 
ly blue. On the bright green sward before 
her the little Cutlers were rolling over and 
over. There was a tree close to the porch, 
and through it came tremulous lights and 
shadows, stirring her strangely, so that, 
though there was a smile upon her lips, a 
tear was in her eye. Mrs. Cutler senior 
came out upon the porch just then, and her 
ever-sharp eyes detected the tears. 

“What! crying?” she questioned in sur- 
prise. “You’re not homesick for the old 
room, are you, Ruth?” 

“No, no; they’re tears of joy and of 
gratitude. Oh, it’s so sweet here ! so 
sweet I It reminds me of the old home 
where Nat and I were born.” 


CHAPTER XX. 

ANJV MOONRISE’S LEGACY. 

I WILL read you some letters Miss 
Blake received early in the summer, 
just before Miss Bloom came to the old 
farm-house. This from Ethel : 

“ My Dear Aunt Mary : A year since 
you were here — a busy, happy, growing 
year, I am glad to tell you. 

“ Mamma can walk again. Oh, Aunt 
Mary, it does seem so good to see her 
walking about the house and out into the 
yard to the rustic chair that Rick and Jamie 
made for her ! It is pathetically sweet to 
see her busying herself with little kindly 
services for others. She grows stronger 
every day, and she follows your advice, as 
do we all, about being out of doors as much 
as possible. I think we must have forgot- 
262 


ANN MOONRISE’S LEGACY. 253 

ten that we had complexions, for Lucy is 
tanned and I am freckled until we look like 
regular tomboys, Rick says ; but we don’t 
care, and papa likes our looks (though^ to 
be honest, the tan and freckles are not 
beautifiers), and says he greatly prefers 
them to the pale faces we formerly had. 
We still keep the strong-armed Norwegian 
girl whom we hired last fall before we en- 
tered the seminary. She would be willing, 
I verily believe, to do the whole of our 
housework, she is such a strong, willing and 
industrious body. But of course we will 
not allow that. Lucy and I help her, and 
even mamma does housework. Would you 
believe that she has helped us can berries? 
She really has, looking them over and 
weighing them. 

“And, auntie, strange as it sounds, papa 
and mamma have grown younger during 
the past year : the weary lines have faded 
out of their faces. I think it must be be- 
cause His blood has washed them whiter 
than snow, for of course he carries their 
heaviest burdens now. Papa attends to 
his business in the city, going there every 


254 the blares and the blooms. 

morning regularly, and, best of all, return- 
ing home every evening regularly, looking 
weary sometimes, but so happy and so 
straight ! 

“ The boys have improved wonderfully — 
you can’t imagine how much. We are 
proud of our brothers, and they are fond 
of us. I’m sure. Rick, of course, is full of 
mischief — he always was, you know — and 
we have many a merry war of words, but 
they are in sport. Rick is earning money 
this summer, helping sometimes at the 
store and doing much about the grounds. 
He is always ready to escort us any- 
where, and he remembers us in such de- 
lightful ways. Last week he bought a knot 
of creamy lace and satin for mamma. Yes- 
terday he made Lucy’s heart glad by bring- 
ing her a book she had long desired, and 
with the book came a bottle of my favorite 
perfume for me. But you need not think 
Rick is perfect, auntie. He has his faults 
of course, and so have we ; we only want 
you to know that we are pressing on to- 
ward the prize. Though we are often 
tempted, we combat our sins, being driven 


ANN MOONRISE LEGACY. 255 

to the One who is strong to help. We are 
frequently perplexed, and sometimes dis- 
couraged, but we always know where to 
find the Comforter. 

“ Not very far from our old farm-house 
fhere is a family named Cutler, new comers. 
One day, as I was passing there, the little 
boys were playing hide-and-seek, and one 
of them jumped over the fence into a mead- 
ow of high grass, saying as he hid him- 
self, ‘They’ll never find me here, never, for 
the rest can’t climb the high fence.’ I have 
thought of his remark often since. There’s 
a hiding-place for us too ‘ in the cleft of the 
Rock,’ and no harm can reach us there. I 
must stop now, for Rick is shouting, ‘You 
won’t leave anything for me to say.’ Good- 
bye, auntie. 

“Lovingly, yours, 

“ Ethel.” 

Here is Rick’s letter, enclosed with 
Ethel’s: 

“ My Darling Auntie : If you were here 
you would realize that between this summer 


256 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

and last there is a great gulf. Perhaps the 
gulf isn’t as deep as that between Lazarus 
and the rich man, and then, again, perhaps 
it is. You know what a run-down place 
ours was : well, all that is past. The house 
shines in a new coat of paint ; the barn too 
has been re-dressed, and looks as if it would 
like to laugh for joy. The stone walls have 
been repaired, the fences mended, and the 
lawn is as smooth — well, not exactly as 
smooth — as velvet, but as velvety as Jamie 
and I can keep it with our lawn-mowers. 
And oh what good times we do have even- 
ings ! Papa is always at home, and mamma 
enjoys calls now ; people have found it out. 
Tom Lawrence and I are better friends than 
ever. We were going to the bad together, 
and now we are going to the good togeth- 
er — trying to, at least. It sounds kind of 
egotistical to say it, but it seems as if I 
must tell you everything: the girls, Lucy 
and Ethel, say I have a good influence over 
Tom. Ain’t you glad I can have a good 
influence over anybody ? And, Aunt Mary, 
the girls are so nice now ! Why, on my 
birthday they gave me a regular surprise — 


ANN MOONRISE^S LEGACY. 2 $/ 

boys dropping in ; such presents ! such a 
supper ! Ethel painted me a cup and 
saucer, and I use them every meal, and Lucy 
embroidered me a satin hat-crown, and 
mamma made me a set of neckties. Just 
think of it, auntie ! mamma made them ex- 
pressly for me ! 

“Papa has rented the old farm-house to 
a maiden lady from the city ; the folks (for 
she has somebody’s children with her, Dr. 
Gay says) will soon take possession. Dr. 
Gay says the lady. Miss Bloom, reminds 
him of you, so I am anxious to see her. If 
she isn’t pretty and sweet and all that. I’ll 
make Dr. Gay pay for his comparison. 
There goes Tom’s whistle ; he’s after me to 
go swimming, so I’ll stop. No, I won’t, 
either — not until I tell you about my 
chickens. I’ve fifty of the nicest chickens 
you ever saw, and twenty young turkeys, 
and — Well, there goes Tom’s whistle. 

“Your loving nephew, 

“ Rick.” 


17 


CHAPTER XXI. 


MRS. DOW. 

L ate in the autumn Miss Blake re- 
ceived a letter from Ethel, enclosing 
a photographic group taken out of doors, 
to which she replied: 

“Dreading winter, are you? Well, my 
dear girls, I should not do that ; it will bring 
neither strength nor happiness. True, the 
summer blossoms have gone and the skies 
are overcast, and we realize that the time 
of the singing of the birds has passed ; but 
these winds that are blowing are tinting 
the grapes with purple and the apples with 
crimson and gold, and they can tint our 
lives if we care to have it so. There are 
joys in winter that are not to be ignored. 
Think what one can accomplish during the 
long winter evenings when the families are 
all in their nests, not on the wing, as in 

258 


MA^S. DOW. 


259 


summer. You will both feel stronger when 
those short, cool days shall have come. 
Giving due credit to the golden days passed 
by, yet the winter days are those that bind 
families in closer union. The ripe grain 
has been gathered, the hay cut and carried 
into barns or piled into stacks, and no 
dread can defer the storms, the winds, the 
cold, the whirl of snow that are surely com- 
ing. But the storms need not enter the- 
home-circle. Let no storms blow there, no 
shadows come, or even clouds enter. God 
sends these. During these winter days you 
can fill the home with songs and gladness. 

I cannot tell you how glad I am that you 
have a piano and are doing so well with 
your music. 

“And now I must thank you for that 
photograph. How well and happy you 
look, my darlings, Ethel, Lucy, Rick and 
Jamie ! But who are the others ? Why 
did 3^ou not tell me in your letter? I feel 
as if I could love them all, especially that 
curly-haired little girl with the far-away 
look in her eyes. Is she blind ? She looks 
as if she were to this world, and were peer- 


26 o the b lakes and the blooms. 

ing into the other. I must tell you some- 
thing very strange that occurred last even- 
ing soon after the picture came, and I will 
have to take a roundabout way to tell you : 

“Years ago, in our old home, we had for 
near neighbors a family by the name of 
Dartmuth. There had been ten children 
in the Dartmuth family, but when we knew 
them there were only three ; the other 
seven had died when babies. The oldest 
child was a girl, much older than your 
father: he will remember well the Dart- 
mu ths. She married much against her pa- 
rents’ will, and moved away to some dis- 
tant place, and I have never heard of her 
since. The second living child was a son 
about your father’s age. He was a wild 
fellow, and ran away out West. When the 
elder Dartmuth died his financial affairs 
were found to be in a very mixed state, and 
when they were sifted there was nothing 
left. The mother with her youngest child, 
a lovely little girl, was left to look out for 
herself. I never heard how she succeeded, 
for we moved out West that year, and I 
had almost forgotten the family. 


M/^S. DOW. 


261 


“Now I am at the heart of my story. 
The second child, this Jack Dartmuth, has 
recently come into our neighborhood ; he 
boards just opposite our rooms. He is a 
very fine man, thoroughly reformed and 
highly respected. Madam Rumor calls him 
wealthy, but he is far from happy. He has 
a sad look constantly; it is undoubtedly the 
impress of remorse. He is very kind to 
mother, who is quite feeble now, and last 
evening he had just brought her over a 
bouquet of roses when your picture came. 
I showed it to him, thinking of course that 
he would only glance at the group, but he 
kept it for a long time, looking at it steadily 
as if fascinated. Then he looked at me, 
and asked earnestly, 

“ ‘ Who are they. Miss Blake ?’ 

“ ‘ Some of them are my nephews and 
nieces; the others I do not know,’ I an- 
swered. 

“ He looked again at the picture. ‘ Those 
two faces,’ he said, pointing to Rick’s and 
Jamie’s, ‘ I do not know ; they do not look 
like the Blakes, but they probably are your 
nephews. This one,’ pointing to yours, 


262 THE BLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

Ethel, ‘slightly resembles you, Miss Blake, 
and this one,’ pointing to Lucy, ‘looks like 
John Blake — dear old John ! — as I remem- 
ber him ; they must be your nieces. But 
these other faces seem to belong to me ; 
they touch a chord reaching back to the 
long ago. That boy. Miss Blake, does he 
not look just a little like me, or as I used to 
look before sin and sorrow marred me so ?’ 

“ I looked at the boy’s picture, and then 
at Mr. Dartmuth’s eyes and hair, and said, 
Jionestly, ‘I believe he does, Mr. Dart- 
muth.’ 

“He looked wonderfully pleased, but 
more excited. A moment later, looking at 
the sweet face of that blind girl (for she 
must be blind), he said, ‘That face is the 
image of my little sister Jennie. Would to 
God I could find that sister ! I have search- 
ed for her in vain. And that sweet little 
curly-head is like my baby brother, who 
used to nestle in my arms. I was only 
seven years old when that brother died, 
but I love him yet. Look here. Miss Blake;’ 
and he took from his breast-pocket a small 
locket, and opened it, revealing a baby face 


M/^S. DOW. 


263 

SO much like the one in the photograph that 
it seemed as if they must represent the 
same child. 

“Now, who are these children, dear? 
Please write and tell me immediately, for 
Mr. Dartmuth is greatly excited thinking 
about them. With very much love to all, 
' “ Aunt Mary.” 

Ruth Millard had remained during the 
rest of the summer at Mr. Cutler’s, Nat 
paying what he could toward her board. 
She had won many friends, but the time 
had now come for her to return to the city. 
She dreaded it, but as she was stronger 
than she had been for years, she desired to 
go to work and help her faithful Nat. 

“I have rented our old room, Ruth,” Nat 
said, coming in one evening with sober face. 

“ I am glad of that ; I should prefer the 
old room to another that might prove 
worse.” 

“ But, Ruth, you’ll go down hill as soon 
as you go to work as if your life depended 
upon how much you could do in a day.” 

“ Nat dear,” she replied, “ don’t worry 


264 THE SLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

over my going back. I have had a long 
resting-spell while you have been working 
hard. I am almost well now, and so strong 
that I can endure it.” 

“ But if you go at the old sewing, day in 
and day out, you will get back to just where 
you were. Oh, Ruth, for your sake I wish 
we were rich.” 

“ It would be pleasant, not only for me, 
but for your own sake, dear Nat, if we 
were, for then you could go to school ; but, 
Nat, God knows all about us and cares for 
us, and we will keep brave hearts. I be- 
lieve that some time you will be able to go 
to school.” 

“ I don’t want to go when I’m old and 
gray-haired if the ‘ some time’ should come 
then.” 

The following evening Nat went to the 
old city room to get it ready for Ruth. 
Their few things had been stored away, but 
were at hand now. He arranged them as 
neatly as possible, endeavoring to have 
everything in its accustomed place. After 
all was done he sat down in Ruth’s chair, 
looked about the room, and then, strong- 


MRS. DOW. 265 

souled boy although he was, he sobbed 
aloud : 

“ It isn’t the place for such a girl as my 
Ruth — it isn’t ; and I can’t bear to have 
her come back. Hear that drunken man 
singing that maudlin song, and old Mrs. 
Ballard quarreling and fighting, and that 
crackbrained fiddler over my head. Some 
one is knocking at the door. I’d like to 
know who has come to bother me already 
and Nat opened the door fiercely, but 
changed his cross look to a pleasant one 
as he discovered his caller to be little Ella 
Gage. 

“I’m so glad that Ruth is coming back!” 
she said. “ She’ll let me rest on her nice 
bed sometimes ; mine’s only an old mat- 
tress on the floor.” 

“ The old lady living next to us has sent 
her colored servant after you to come over 
there ; will you go ?” 

It was Sallie Cutler asking the question 
of Ruth Millard. 

“ Certainly, if she wants me. I have 
often pitied her, she looks so lonely and 


266 THE BLARES AND THE BLOOMS. 

sad,” answered Ruth. — “Did your mistress 
send you for me ?” she asked, going into 
the hall, where the colored woman waited. 

“ He ! he ! he !” giggled the girl ; “ in 
course she did. ‘You’se to go over to 
Mr. Cutler’s, an’ bring along the pretty 
girl ; I’m wanting to see her.’ Them’s her 
orders.” 

Wrapping up warmly with hood and 
shawl, Ruth went with the girl. As soon 
as they entered the hall she took Ruth’s 
wraps, and, laying them aside, led her into 
a warm parlor and gave her a seat near the 
glowing grate. 

“ How different this cottage is from 
Daniel Cutler’s !” Ruth thought, looking 
about her admiringly. 

The soft carpets gave back no sound of 
footfalls, the curtains drooped gracefully, 
and upon the walls hung pictures. Through 
an arched doorway, whose curtain was 
looped back, she could see well-filled book- 
cases. In Ruth’s eyes it seemed like a 
palace. The mistress of the pretty home 
now entered, and Ruth arose to meet her. 
She had spoken to her but two or three 


MJ^S. DOW. 267 

times, and was therefore surprised to re- 
ceive a warm greeting. 

“ I have sent for you to tell you a little 
story,” she said. “Will you listen to it?” 

“ Gladly,” answered Ruth, politely. 

“ Then I will begin. I will endeavor not 
to enter into details ; I will only tell a few 
facts. I was a happy wife and mother once, 
but God saw fit to deprive me of my loved 
ones. He took my husband and my chil- 
dren, and I rebelled. I would not, could 
not, say, ‘ The Lord gave, the Lord hath 
taken away, blessed be his name !’ I did 
not look upon him as a Father chastening 
his children for their own good, but as a 
Ruler breaking the hearts of his subjects. 
I became a wanderer. I traveled north, 
south, east and west, seeking forgetfulness, 
but not finding it. My heart was not only 
heavy with sorrow, but with bitterness. I 
cared for no one, and no one cared for me. 
That was my condition when I bought this 
cottage early in the summer and came here 
to live. I did not wish any calls, for I de- 
sired no new acquaintances, but I sprained 
my ankle while out for a walk, and a sunny- 


268 THE BLARES AND THE BLOOMS, 

faced boy — you know him, Rick Blake — 
helped me home. He came the next day 
to inquire how I was, and his bright face 
interested me. Then his sisters came, 
offering me attentions in such tender yet 
unobtrusive ways that I could not reject 
them without being rude. My heart began 
to thaw, and when I recovered from the 
effects of my fall I was no longer the 
cold being I had been for years. At Ethel 
Blake’s request I accompanied her to 
prayer-meeting in the little chapel, and 
it was there that I found the Good Shep- 
herd from whom I had wandered. I felt 
as if he had left the ninety-and-nine and 
was holding out his arms to me. I arose 
and followed him into the * green pastures ’ 
and to the ‘ still waters ’ of his never-failing 
love. Soon after that Miss Bloom called 
upon me. I was drawn to her at once. 
Then Dr. Gay told me about her — what a 
brave Christian woman she was, how she 
had lost father and mother and brother, 
leaving her with only one relative, a young 
daughter of her brother, whom she took 
into her home and educated. Then came 


MRS. DOW. 


269 

another blow : her fortune found wings 
and flew away. But she did not sink, only 
held fast to His hand, trusting in his prom- 
ise that he would cause all things to work 
together for her good. What a lesson I 
have learned from her ! I have watched 
her quietly all through the summer, and her 
devotion to the family she has voluntarily 
taken as her own has brought the blush of 
shame to my cheek and my very soul to cry 
out in agony over my selfish, heartless days. 
I am too old to adopt young children now: 
would to God I had done so in my bygone 
days ! I could not assume at my time of 
life the care of little ones, as Miss Bloom is 
doing, but I am thinking seriously of adopt- 
ing two young people whom I know. What 
would be your advice about it, Ruth?” 

“ If they have no home I should think 
their hearts would leap for joy.” 

“ They have no home. I have made 
particular inquiries about them. Their 
names are Ruth and Nathaniel Millard. 
Do you think they will come? Will you 
come to me, dearie, and be to me as my 
very own ?” 


270 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

“Oh, Mrs Dow, can it be that you want 
us — Nat and me ?” Ruth asked, almost 
overcome at the thought. 

She appeared so lovely, with her misty 
eyes looking up so wistfully and her sweet 
lips quivering with emotion, that Mrs. Dow, 
who had shown no affection in speech, smile 
or touch in long years, reached out her 
empty arms to Ruth and folded her to the 
heart that had been famishing for love so 
long. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


JACOB DARTMUTH. 

HE bright rays of the setting sun 



streamed into one of the farm-house 


windows and fell across Miss Bloom’s soft 
brown hair. She was alone, and, taking 
advantage of the temporary quiet, she was 
indulging in a train of thought that had 
brought a shadow over her usual sunny 
face. It was a cool evening, and the fire 
in the open fireplace danced and sparkled 
as if doing its best to brighten the mistress 
of the old farm-house ; but all in vain. As 
the sun went down and night came on the 
shadows deepened on her face. We must 
all have our troubled hours, and Miss Bloom 
was no exception to the rule. She was 
thinking of her adopted children, her six 
children, for although Kathie was twenty 
she looked upon her as a child — her child. 
Kathie had sewed industriously ever since 


271 


272 THE BLAKES AND THE BLOOMS, 

it had become necessary for her to work 
for a living-, but, being a bright girl intel- 
lectually, she had longings for higher attain- 
ments, and sometimes grew weary and dis- 
couraged. When her aunt’s fortune had 
been swept away she had been ready to 
enter college, and it had grieved her sadly 
to throw aside her books and content her- 
self with sewing. But she had labored 
bravely under the influence of her aunt, 
who had said to her, “ The way will be open 
some time, my dear, if God thinks best. 
Do the duty that lies before you, trusting 
in him.” 

Some of the shadows upon Miss Bloom’s 
face were cast there in her great longing 
to let Kathie have her heart’s desire, but it 
could not be thought of. 

Then there was Jack. How persever- 
ingly he had worked all through the sum- 
mer’s heat! Now that harvest was passed 
there would be very little paying work for 
him at Newtonville; he must get some situ- 
ation in the city again. To be sure, he 
would come out every night, and would be 
her boy still, but he ought to be in school. 


JACOB DARTMUTH. 


273 


It did not seem right to leave his intelli- 
gent mind uncultivated, but then why chafe 
over that thought? She could not afford 
to support Jack. Oh, if she only could ! 

And Dora, who could take her pencil and 
a bit of paper and sketch a horse, a cow, 
a dog, a sheep, a bird, — if she could have 
advantages what an artist she might be- 
come ! 

Then there was blind Gertie. Gertie 
loved music ; she could sing as sweetly as 
any bird. If she could have a piano what 
joy it would be to her! 

For little Tom, Miss Bloom was not par- 
ticularly troubled. He had begun school 
at a Kindergarten and was doing well, but 
still she had some anxiety for Tom ; he 
needed many things. 

The baby ! what did she need? Nothing 
now but what she had, but she would need 
other things after a while. The baby was 
asleep, with no thought of the future trou- 
bling her, but little Tom came rushing in, 
with Polly behind him, to kiss his auntie 
good-night. 

I wanted Tom to say his prayers to me, 
18 


274 the el a he s and the blooms. 

so as not to trouble you,” said Polly, “but 
he wouldn’t listen to such a thing.” 

“He is used to me, you know, Polly,” 
Miss Bloom replied, smilingly. 

Tom knelt beside her, his little hands 
crossed upon her lap, his head bowed upon 
them, and repeated the Lord’s Prayer, after- 
ward repeating a short prayer that Miss 
Bloom had taught him : “ Help me to be 
forgiving, loving and contented, for Jesus’ 
sake. Amen.” 

Kissing his “auntie” vehemently, he went 
off with Polly to bed. 

“Precious little Tom!” Miss Bloom said 
mentally, her eyes filling with tears as she 
arose from her chair and fell upon her 
knees, praying, “ O my Father, I echo lit- 
tle Tom’s prayer; help me to be contented, 
for Christ’s sake, believing that all thou 
doest is for the best. Longing have I been 
for some human arm to lean upon, forget- 
ting the great Burden-bearer, upon whom I 
can cast all my care. Dear Father, who 
wilt not give thy children stones when they 
cry for bread, open the way for my flock, 
that they may be fed and clothed and edu- 


JACOB DARTMUTH. 275 

cated as is best for them and the world, if 
thou will it so to be. Amen.” 

She arose with kindling eyes because of 
the inbreathing of the Holy Spirit in her 
heart in answer to her earnest cry. A 
heavenly peace stole over, heightening the 
charms of her always sweet face. “ I may 
ask what I will, and he will grant it if he 
thinks best,” she thought, all sorrowful fore- 
boding swallowed up in the surety of God’s 
wisdom, love and power. She lit the lamp 
and took up her sewing with renewed en- 
ergy, but laid it aside a few moments later 
as the door-bell rang. She heard Polly an- 
swer the bell and let some one in, and she 
came to the sitting-room to say, “ There’s a 
gentleman in the little room across the hall, 
a-wantin’ to see you ; here’s his card.” 

Miss Bloom glanced at the card ; “ Jacob 
T. Dartmuth” it read. She did not think 
of associating the name Dartmuth with the 
Hepburns, although the name sounded 
strangely familiar. 

“Who can he be? What can he want?” 
she said, meditatively; then, turning to 
Polly, “ How does he look ?” 


2/6 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

He’s a very handsome man, with iron- 
gray hair; he looks sad, though, as if he’d 
known trouble,” answered Polly, who was 
one of the most observing of woman- 
kind. 

“ Ask him in, Polly.” 

Polly ushered in a tall, fine-looking man, 
who bowed respectfully and said to Miss 
Bloom, “ I am sorry to intrude upon you, 
but a very important errand has brought 
me here.” 

“ Sit down, sir ; you are very welcome,” 
was the hospitable response. 

“ Madam,” he said, taking from under his 
overcoat a photograph and passing it over 
to Miss Bloom, “ do those children live with 
you ?” 

Pointing to a framed photograph upon 
the wall exactly like the one the gentle- 
man had handed to her, she answered, 
“ They do, sir ; they are mine.” Then see- 
ing a questioning look upon her visitor’s 
face, she added in explanation, “That is, 
they are my adopted children.” 

“ Could I see them, please ?” he asked 
wistfully. 


JACOB DARTMUTH. 2 // 

“The two little ones are asleep; the 
others are out to tea.” 

“Their names, madam? Can you tell 
me their names ?” 

“ Hepburn — all but the baby, whose name 
is Cora Tracy.” 

The gentleman evidently was disap- 
pointed ; he had thought that they all be- 
longed to the same family ; but he asked 
eagerly, 

“Their given names? Can I trouble 
you to tell me what they are?” 

Miss Bloom looked annoyed at the 
gentleman’s inquisitiveness, but she an- 
swered, “The girls’ names are Theodora 
and Gertrude Hepburn ; the boys’, Thomas 
Denning Hepburn and Jacob Tracy Dart- 
muth Denning.” 

Her eyes fell upon the card in her lap, 
“Jacob T. Dartmuth.” — “Why, sir, this is 
strange. My Jack has your own name,” 
she said, in great surprise. 

The gentleman grew agitated. “You 
think me officiously inquisitive,” he said, 
apologetically, “and it is only courteous in 
me to offer some explanation. If you will 


2/8 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

kindly listen I will give it to you. My 
name is, as you see, Jacob Tracy Dartmuth, 
better known as Jack Dartmuth. I was a 
wild fellow in my young days and ran away 
from home because, being a simpleton, I 
objected to my father’s stern rule. I went 
to the West, and suffered much as well as 
sinned much for two years. A blessed 
Hand, however, reached down to me in the 
darkness and pulled me up into the light 
of faith and hope After I was pardoned I 
worked hard until I had money enough to 
take me to my old home and to carry with 
me to the dear home-folks a handsome 
present. I arrived there only to find that 
I was too late. The old homestead had 
passed into others’ hands. Father and 
mother were dead, and all I could hear 
about my dear little sister was that as soon 
as she had grown old enough and sufficient- 
ly capable she had gone, no one knew 
where, to teach. I felt remorseful enough 
then, I can assure you, and if God’s hand 
had not upheld me I should have been 
engulfed. I went to work again, using 
my money in fruitless advertising for my 


JACOB DARTMUTH. 


279 


little sister. Oh, how I chafed for months I 
Then I put the whole matter into the Lord’s 
hands, and felt relieved in a measure. I 
went West again, and plunged into busi- 
ness — good, honest business — and the Lord 
blessed it. Wealth flowed in, and, although 
I do not care to praise myself, I must say 
that much of it flowed out, for I realized 
that I had been ‘ bought with a price,’ and 
I tried to help the ‘ widow and the father- 
less.’ But it seemed that the more I gave 
the more I had — I, an old bachelor, who 
needed but little. I wondered oftentimes 
if my darling little golden-haired sister, 
Jennie Denning Dartmuth, ever — ” 

“ Sir, can it be ? Was your sister’s name 
Jennie Denning Dartmuth?” was Miss 
Bloom’s startled question, her cheek flush- 
ing vividly in her excitement. 

“Yes, yes! Was that the name of the 
mother of these children?” 

“ It was.” 

“Then, God be thanked! I have found 
her children !” 

The front door opened. There was a 
sound of happy voices and merry laughter, 


28 o the el a he s and the blooms. 

and then a group of young people entered 
the room, Kathie the first. 

“ My niece, Miss Kathie Bloom,’' Miss 
Bloom said, introducing Kathie, who looked 
surprised, but bowed pleasantly. “These,” 
drawing forward the others, “are Jennie 
Denning Dartmuth’s children.” 

The three children stood still, not know- 
ing how to construe such an odd introduc- 
tion. The gentleman looked at them as 
if he would like to gather them all in his 
arms, but he only asked wistfully, looking 
at Jack for an answer, “ Did you ever hear 
your mother talk of a brother?” 

“Yes, indeed we did, sir,” Jack answered 
— “ often and often, sir. He ran away from 
home, and mamma said she never could 
understand how he could have made up his 
mind to do it.” 

“ I wonder what made her say that ?” Mr. 
Dartmuth murmured, as if talking to him- 
self. 

Gertie answered, “It was because Uncle 
Jack had always loved her so much, and 
mamma loved him.” 

“You blessed child!” the gentleman said, 


JACOB DABTMUTH. 


281 


approaching the blind girl and smoothing 
her golden hair. “Fm your uncle Jack 
that loved your mother. Can you love me 
a little for your mother’s sake?” 

His tones were as tender as a woman’s, 
and the loving nature of Gertie was stirred 
to its depths. Very soon her head was 
resting upon Uncle Jack’s bosom. He held 
it close, and reached out his other arm to- 
ward Dora and Jack. 

Miss Bloom watched the three children 
in their uncle’s embrace with a pale face 
and tearful eyes. Conflicting thoughts, 
rushing through her mind, made her glad, 
yet sad. Must she lose her children, who 
had become so dear to her that she looked 
upon them almost as if they were her own? 
Would they forget her now that they had 
found an uncle — one whom their mother 
had loved? Was this Mr. Jacob Tracy 
Dartmuth wealthy? Ah, if he were, per- 
haps all her longings for the dear children 
would be realized. But then, supposing he 
should take them all away from her, what 
could she do without them? Would they 
be willing to leave her? 


282 THE BLAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

Jack was the first to turn away from his 
uncle. During so, he caught a glimpse of 
Miss Bloom’s thoughful and somewhat anx- 
ious face. He was at her side in a moment. 
Winding his arms about her, he kissed her 
cheek and whispered, “Auntie, dear auntie! 
you are more to me than forty uncles; don’t 
cast me off.” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


GREAT CHANGES. 

Y DEAR Aunt Mary: We are all 



TVX well, and mamma is able to go to 
church, and goes. We are in school again, 
and taking music-lessons, too — Lucy and I, 
and even Rick. I told you about our piano 
in my last letter, and now v/e have another 
musical instrument — Rick’s violin, on which 
he is learning to play. But I can’t tell you 
much about ourselves in this letter, I have 
so much else to relate. 

“You know Lucy wrote to you about 
Mrs. Dow, who lived in a beautiful cottage 
in Newtonville, and about Ruth Millard, 
the sweet girl who has been staying all 
summer at Daniel Cutler’s. We all love 
Ruth, and were mourning because she was 
to go back to her work, plain sewing, but 
she is not going, after all. This Mrs. Dow 
has adopted her and her brother Nat, a 


283 


284 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS, 

boy about Rick’s age. Mrs. Dow has put 
Nat in school, and he is doing finely, being 
naturally an unusually bright boy. She 
seems as proud of him as if he were her 
own. They were all three at church to- 
gether on Sunday, and they did look so 
happy ! Oh, how lovely Ruth looks in her 
pretty new clothes ! Nat, in a neat new 
suit, sitting beside her, looked at her with 
his heart in his eyes. I could fill pages 
talking about them, but it will never do, so 
I will pass on. 

“ Over at Miss Bloom’s there have been 
great changes. The farm-house is hers 
now. Jack Hepburn’s uncle bought it, that 
Jack might give it to her. 

“ Kathie Bloom has entered college. Not- 
withstanding some tears at parting, I never 
saw a happier girl than she was when she 
bade us good-bye. 

“ ‘ It seems like a dream, too good to be 
true. Bless you for ever !’ she said to Mr. 
Dartmuth. 

“And he answered, ‘Tut! tut! it’s no 
dream ; and I am blessed, with all these 
youngsters to care for.’ 


GREAT CHANGES. 


285 


“Jack and Dora are both in school, and 
dear little blind Gertie is as happy as a 
lark. She has one of the sweetest- toned 
pianos that I ever heard, and a teacher 
comes from the city twice a week to give 
her music-lessons. 

“We are getting up some tableaux for a 
social to be held to-morrow evening at Miss 
Bloom’s ; we are going there to-night to 
rehearse. Dear me ! how time flies ! The 
door-bell is ringing; there is a bevy of 
girls in the hall calling to us to come on. 

“Lovingly, your 

“ Ethel.” 

To Polly, who had nursed and kindly 
cared for the baby, Cora Tracy, Mr. Dart- 
muth gave a handsome present. 

“You can be independent now, Polly, 
and can go off to a little home all by your- 
self if you choose,” Miss Bloom said to her 
faithful servant. 

“ But I’d rather stay with you, if you’ll let 
me; I never want to leave you,” was Polly’s 
answer; and her mistress was satisfied. 

To little Ella Gage and her hardworking 


286 THE B LAKES AND THE BLOOMS. 

mother Ruth Millard gave her little parlor 
cooking-stove, her low-cushioned rocker, 
her plants, Nat’s nest of swinging shelves, 
the machine, the bright chromo and the bed 
with all its belongings, reserving only for 
herself the old arm-chair and the portrait. 
Ella was as happy over the gifts as if a for- 
tune had come to her. 

“ Oh, mother !” she said, joyfully, “ I told 
Ruth once that I didn’t believe God loved 
us, an’ she said he did, even if we couldn’t 
understand it; an’ she told me if I wanted 
anything to keep on prayin’ for it, an’ he’d 
give it to me if he thought best. Ever 
since then I’ve been prayin’ for a picture 
an’ flowers an’ a bed, an’ now I’ve got ’em. 
Oh, mother!” 

It is not our purpose to trace to any ex- 
tent the history of any of our characters, 
so we leave them — some on the threshold 
of life, with its burdens, temptations and 
perplexities and sorrows ; some just ready 
to pass the “ five-barred gate” which some 
writer calls middle age. We believe that 
they will climb bravely, surely, upward 
through storm and through sunshine, 


GREAT CHANGES. 


287 


through conflict and through victory, be- 
cause the wheels and the shuttles of their 
lives are using golden threads. Basking 
in the radiance from the divine One, they 
will grow stronger, more beautiful and more 
fragrant as the days roll on. They are 
weaving their tapestry after the directions 
received from their Commander. 

As Mrs. Spurgeon says, “Its foundation- 
lines were laid in his love and compassion, 
its pattern is traced in the golden threads 
of his faithfulness and favor, its embroidery 
is clustered with the precious stones of his 
mercies, and its beauty is great because of 
the ‘ blessing of the Lord’ upon it. It is so 
great an honor to be allowed to put even 
one stitch into the tapestry of the wonder- 
ful providences which are being wrought 
all about us that we might well crave to be 
employed upon the selvedges or be happy 
only to ravel out the fringes of the great 
Master’s designs, rather than bear no part 
in that solemn labor which promotes us to 
be ‘workers together with God.’” 


THE END. 






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